Searching for the Traitor
by SuNRisESuNSeT96
Summary: Harry spent a year in Durmsrang and he is no longer the boy he once was. How will Hogwarts survive with the new Harry Potter? How will Harry's friends and foes react at the change? Old traditions, pureblood politics and many, many more... And what about the infamous murderer Sirius Black? What is his connection to Harry's past... and future? All chapters (8) edited
1. Prelude

**_For those who had read the original version, I have added a few more details and cleared up some of the mistakes. I hope is better now._**

**I do not own Harry Potter and I never will. **

**See the end of the chapter for more notes.**

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><p><strong>Prelude <strong>

And So It Begins Anew

_ "Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts"_

_"But I've got to go back- term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world-at Hogwarts."_

_"Harry Potter must stay were he's safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."_

_"Fine, then. Fine, I promise. I won't go to Hogwarts this year. I promise, I will not."_

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The Opening Feast – just three simple words saying so much.

For a bunch of first-years, this meant that they had finally become a part of Hogwarts, the best school for magic in the whole world. No more staying at home and waiting for the big day to come. No more fear from being sorted into the wrong House. No more wondering about what the Sorting Ceremony was. From the moment the food appeared in their plates, all their worries were forgotten. They would eat and soon would go to their dormitories, seeing their new home-away-from-home for the very first time. And when they woke up on the following morning the fun would begin.

The second-years suddenly felt more grown-up. They had been here before, they knew what to expect and they weren't little kids anymore that got lost in the corridors of the ancient castle and jumped at the sight of the ghosts. Now they were older and wiser; they could even bring brooms and try-out for the Quidditch team. And wasn't that amazing?

The third-years were exited. Finally, after two years of waiting, they were permitted to visit Hogsmeade (the only all-wizard village in Britain). They would go to Zonko, The Three Broomsticks, the Shirking Shack and so, so many other places they had only heard of from the upperclassmen. Some of the students couldn't wait to start their new subjects. Imagine all those interesting creatures they would meet this year or to be able to See the future or to know how to read thousand-year-old texts.

The fourth-years were the veterans. They had long since stopped being afraid of the castle and its secrets. They had been to Hogsmeade before and knew what to expect from the village this year. The extra classes – nothing special. Yes, they were the veterans. Nothing could surprise them anymore.

Fifth year was the O.W.E. year. All fifteen-year-old felt shiver run down their spines by the thought of the exhausting classes and tons of homework in front of them, no more slaking off and having fun all the time. This year was important for their future careers and they had to become serious or whatever plans they had had would be destroyed. Some of them had made Prefects and that (dubious) honor would only bring more difficulties during the last few weeks before the exams.

For the sixth-years, the Feast meant the beginning of another year, a little less stressful than the previous one, but not by much. They knew from older students that the teacher's expectations would increase and their homework would follow. This would not be a walk in the park.

The seventh-years felt nostalgic. This would be the last Opening Feast they would be part of (at least as students) and soon they would part ways. However, before they graduate they would have to take the N.E. and that meant repeating the whole fifth-year on much worst level. The Head Boy and Girl would have their hands full all the time with different duties (Prefect meetings, school and Hogsmeade weekends). May their souls rest in peace.

For others, however, the Feast was their last hope to see Harry Potter this (or any other) year.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had spent hours looking for Harry. The pair had arrived at Kings Cross over an hour earlier (despite the protests from the red-head's entire family, except for Percy's for obvious reasons) searching for their friend without result. The two had entered every single compartment at the _Hogwarts Express, _hoping to find Harry in one of them.

Unfortunately, they had been unsuccessful in their pursuit of one Harry Potter and now, at the Opening Feast, their last hope was slowly disappearing. It seemed that this was the end; Harry Potter had decided to attend Durmstrang for the next five years of his education and would never return to Hogwarts.

Everything had started in the middle of the summer after their first year. Apparently, a house elf had come to his relatives' house and told him not to return to Hogwarts. Somehow, because of this, Harry had chosen to go to Durmstrang for the following year. How he had managed a transfer or why _Durmstrang_ of all places remained a mystery.

It wasn't that hard at the beginning. Yes, he wasn't there but they managed. Harry did send them a letter every couple of days. He wrote about his new school and how different was everything. According to him, even if the building was smaller and the weather (much) colder, the place had its own charm. He would mention his new teachers (and how Potions was a great class when not taught by Snape) or new friends (once Hermione commented how he seem to know everyone) or (not very often) some prank he had pulled and gotten away with it.

Hedwig always stayed until Ron or Hermione gave her a letter for Harry. They would tell him about their classmates and how were they fairing and, after Halloween, their suspicions about the Heir of Slytherin. Christmas gifts were exchanged and with them came a picture of Harry and his new friends (so they would not forget how he looked like, the other had joked).

The background itself was breathtaking. The photo was taken in front of a large crystal clear lake. There were pines, spruces, and a blue silhouette of a mountain behind them, their reflection in the lake shimmering.

What caught their attention every time they looked at the picture, however, was not the beautiful Northern nature, but the people on the photo: two girls and three boys. A girl with blond hair was in the middle and a boy who seemed to be her twin was on her right ('Lisa and Dimitri' was written on the back). Harry was on her right. He was giving a piggyback ride to a girl with brown hair who couldn't stop laughing ('Vanessa'). The fifth one lay on the ground in front of them ('Georg'). They all wore scarlet robes and looked happy and carefree like…

… like best friends. Looking at the picture and seeing Harry surrounded with friends and happy Ron and Hermione couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Then (around mid-January) the letters became rarer and rarer. In the end, they got only a couple of letters this summer. One saying that he might not be coming to Hogwarts the next year and the other saying 'thank you' for the birthday gifts. Both (or the four since Ron and Hermione got separated letters, even if they looked almost identical) ones looked like they were done in a hurry; the author hadn't put much thought in them. Knowing that someone else had replaced them hurt more than they would admit.

"Looks like he's not coming after all," the bushy-haired girl said sadly, her brown eyes filled with unshed tears. Her companion just nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the plate before him.

So this was the end, he thought sadly. Probably right now Harry was with his new rich foreign friends, barely spearing a thought for them.

A few seats away from them another person was also on the edge of tears. Oliver Wood had prayed the entire summer (and even from before that) that his star Seeker would return to Hogwarts and lead Gryffindor to victory but said Seeker was nowhere to be seen. That meant that he would have to hold try-outs one more time and hope for the best. Perhaps, there was someone in the House who had a chance of catching the snitch, or at least being able to find the bloody thing. Oh, did he want his Seeker back.

"Don't worry Oliver," the gentle voice of Alicia Spinet rang next to him as she put her hand on his shoulder trying (and failing) to comfort him. "I'm sure that we will win this year. The second-years look promising. Maybe the Weasley girl has Charley's skill," the Keeper nodded, not fully convinced.

The Chaser, seeing that her captain wasn't paying much attention to her words, went back to her meal resigned. Hopefully, that Ginny-girl indeed had inherited some skills and would come to the try-outs. Or some other hidden talent would appear and they would have a Seeker capable of more than just staying out of their way and being sufficiently useless.

_Hope dies last, I suppose_, she thought and turned to her year-mate Andrea Brocks who had been trying to engage her in a conversation about the latest music band the _Grim's Desires. _

Therefore, too busy with eating and chatting, most people failed noticed that someone had entered the Great Hall.

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Harry Potter had had a great year. No, scratch that, he had had the time of his life. Admittedly, being away from England wasn't very easy at the beginning and learning German wasn't the first thing he would choose to do as a summer elective (it wouldn't be on the list to begin with) but in the end everything had worked out. He had made tons of friends, advanced in his studies, learnt a trick or two for Quidditch (from the resident international Quidditch star no less) and overall had a lot of fun.

After the initial shock, he had quickly befriended a mischievous boy called Georg Grausman. He was German and his goal was to be remembered as the biggest prankster in the whole world (or at least in Durmstrang). He was the first to break a rule (just for the sake of doing it), throw a party (just because he was bored at the time) and have some good laugh (on his or someone else's expense).

It had taken him almost three weeks to pull Harry out of his shell and turn him into a relatively outgoing person. Harry's natural shyness was still there but he no longer felt the need to retreat from the world and wait for someone else to start the conversation.

With the help of Vanessa Lupei, Harry finally got the knack of Potions and actually found the subject very interesting. It would never be his favorite (or strongest, for that matter) course, but he had gotten fairy decent.

The cheerful brunette had tutored him for some other classes (namely History and Astrology) and he had finished the year as one of the top students.

The twins, who kind of reminded him of Fred and George (had Lisa been a boy he could have sworn that they were the blond, snobby and high-class doppelgangers of the two Weasleys, with the way they finished their sentences and all) had decided that, since he was famous, he ought to know what to do on social gatherings. Therefore, while Dimitri was repairing his manners to fit his social status, Lisa was buying him a new wardrobe. A very expensive new wardrobe, if he might add. Thankfully, he had enough money on his name to afford it.

The first time he showed his new skills was on the twins' (or their parents' more likely) New Year Eve Gala. For this, he had to learn Russian and Harry spend nearly the entire November and December feeling grateful to the person who had invented the Language charm. True, it just made the person predisposed to pick up the language on a much faster pace than they would normally do and even with it, it there was the possibility of not learning everything. Even so, it was much better than doing it the Muggle way for sure.

Despite his all of his worries, the Gala was not that bad. All he needed to do was smile, shake hands and exchange politesses and pointless small-talk with the other guests. With Great Britain and Ireland rather closed-off politic for the past decay, many had been surprised to see the Potter heir on the annual Lazar New Year Eve Gala and many of the older wizards and witched had been interested in his sudden appearance in the high social circles and of the whole of Europe not just his home country. Feeding them some bullshit about 'expanding his horizons' and whatnot had been enough.

The forced smiles and the feeling of being put under a magnifying glass and being closely examined had been worth it, in his opinion. The fireworks at midnight had been simply magnificent. Calypso smacked him when he told her that and said that the connections he had forged were much more important than some 'pretty lights on the sky'. She could be so uptight sometimes.

By the end of the school year he was no longer the scared little boy he had been when he had entered this new (but not really) world of magic. He understood what made it tick and the strange customs no longer seemed so alien to him.

He wasn't afraid to buy himself things with his family money (within reason of course) and most of his clothes were now from famous designers from all over the world (on Lisa's insistence that Potters do not wear second-rated clothes). He even bought several bottles of some newly invented potion that worked on the same principle like the Muggle contact lenses did and only needed to ne applied once every fortnight. He got himself a pair of glasses just in case.

His summer was significantly better than the previous one as well. He spent about ten days with his relativities before Georg mother came and took him with her. The rest of the vacation he spent in his friend's summer house in southern France. The rest of the gang was there as well and they spent the days playing Quidditch, swimming in the near lake or simply relaxing. On Harry's birthday they held a big party and the whole school was invited (or at least that was how it felt).

He didn't want to part with this, with this feeling of freedom and happiness, but deep inside Harry knew that he didn't belong there. His place was in Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. He missed his very first friends terribly, even if he rarely got the chance to write to them in the end he always thought about them.

His home was at Hogwarts and no matter how much he wanted to stay in Norway and enjoy the new life he had created for himself, he knew that he would never find the thing that was missing. (Even if no one was gawking at him at every turn and held him on a pedestal because of some fluke of magic years ago was definitely a plus for Durmstrang).

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He knew he was late. The portkey he had ordered arrived half an hour later and he had missed the carriages. Next time he would use the IFA, even if he detested the floo. At least then, he wouldn't have to walk to the caste. Or fly, that was a possibility if one could do feather-light charms on school trunks, which he did not.

Thankfully, a witch (she introduced herself as Joanna Greenburg) offered to do a shrinking charm so he would be able to fly to the old castle. The old lady scolded him for being late and kept on talking about her grandson, who had just graduated apparently, but turned out to be quite good at shrinking charms ('Have a lovely year, dear.').

It took him a few minutes to arrive at Hogwarts (his trunk in his left pocket) and as soon as he landed in front of the gates he entered the castle. The sea of black and grey something around the perimeter of the school was unnerving.

"I need a house elf assigned at the Gryffindor tower here," he called aloud. Almost immediately, he heard a faint _pop_ and in front of him was a bat-like creatures similar to Dobby (on the back of his head he wondered what had happened to the stealing elf).

"You is summoned Tin," the (probably) male elf said in high-pitched voice. "What can Tin do for student, sir?"

"Tin, right? I need you to take my trunk," Harry took it out of his pocket and gave it to the elf, "unshrink it and bring it to the third-year Gryffindor dormitories, together with my broom." Tin bowed, took the offered things and disappeared with another _pop_.

After that, Harry made his way to the Great Hall. The teen could hear murmur coming from inside, clear sign that the Sorting was over. He stretched his hand to open the doors but hesitate for a moment. What would happen now? Were his friends angry with him for nor writing, or had Wood thrown him out of the team? Many other similar questions ran across his head and e took his hand away from the door.

Nervously he ran through his hair with his left hand making it even messier. The teen took a deep breath, counted to three and quickly opened the doors before his courage left him. After this, he couldn't back away.

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Dumbledore was the first to notice the newcomer. The old Headmaster had to agree, Durmstrang had done wonders with Harry Potter. Gone was the small shy little boy who looked like he could have another meal and doesn't have a good home life. In front of him was teenager who lives a perfect life.

Harry wore his school robes open in a classy casual manner similar to some purebloods with high social status. The upper bottoms of his shirt were unbuttoned and his tie hung loosely around his neck. This, with his unbelievably messy hair (just like James', obviously Harry had given up form trying making it flat) and bright green eyes (which looked even more like Lily's now without glasses to hide them) gave him the look of someone who had just gotten up and rode a broomstick for a couple of hours.

He was healthier than before. His skin had a normal color and he had grown up. Physically he was no longer a boy.

The Potter boy looked a lot like young Sirius Black, actually. The recumbence between the two distant cousins was uncanny.

The other teachers soon found the reason for the Headmaster's distraction. The majority smiled warmly, looking at the young Potter. The scrawny eleven-year-old boy from their memory had disappeared and they were glad for that. The teen looked like James Potter: confident with a hint of mischievousness.

Looking at Harry, Remus Lupin saw his late best friend. James used to carry himself like Harry did and have this strange aura that summoned people to him. That boy was a born leader, like his parents were. His eyes were warm and caring, a mirror image of Lily's, telling you that you can trust him because he wouldn't betray you.

The same smile James had every time he was nervous and wasn't sure if he could do whatever he was doing at the moment, but was doing it anyway. So many happy memories... The new professor smiled at the boy who seemed to have combined the best qualities from both Lily and James. Now the question was what defense he should set around his coaters so he won't receive the end of a prank.

Severus Snape, on the other hand, wasn't so happy to see the Brat-Who-Lived (as he called him in his mind). His black eyes filled with hatred - the boy looked even more like his father with _her _eyes. Potter was looking around with an arrogant smirk on his lips. Like he owned the place! He would have to put him in his place soon enough before that brat took over his father steps. That or the next five years would be unbearable.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore choose this moment to speak up, "I'm glad to see you joining us. May I ask why you were late?" Even before, he finished his questions all students turned toward Harry.

The teen could literally hear all conversations stopping at once and everyone taking a collective breath. He had expected something like that, of course, but secretly he had hoped for a private reunion with his friends, not a spectacle for the entire school. Well, perhaps that had been a wishful thinking.

Having everyone's attention made him froze for a second but he quickly gained compose and summoned all Gryffindor bravery in himself. Harry gave everyone a slightly arrogant (as much as he hated to admit that part) smile.

"Well, I just experienced first-handed what would happen if I don't pay attention to mine Arithmancy classes," he joked, "I just hope that my lovely teacher will be patient with me," he sighed dramatically. "Apparently I am a lost cause there."

"We'll see," Professor Septima Vector said coolly. Her tone remained Harry of professor McGonagall - not the kind of woman he wanted to cross. Not showing his nervousness, he flashed a smile at her and asked with a wink.

"I guess you can always give me privet lessons… at Saturday night… alone," some of the girls blushed at the suggestion while boys snickered at it. The professor only looked at him with mild amusement and said sternly.

"I will not take up your offer Mr. Potter and you will do well not to repeat it. Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am, crystal clear," Harry answered with a sigh and bowed his head in mock disappointment.

"Now, I believe we should continue with the feast, shall we?" the headmaster suggested and returned to his meal giving an example to the rest, the Hall still deadly silent.

Suddenly six loud cheers broke the silence, making just about everyone jump.

"We have our Seeker back!" And with that three tables burst into cheering greeting Harry.

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><p><em>This was the first chapter, hope you liked it. If you did I would appreciate a review. <em>

_Also, if someone wants to know what had happened in Durmstrang, he or she is free to write this in his/hers review and (if my muse decides to come) will write an one-shot._

_The actual plot will be kicking in, in a few chapters._

_Good night/day. _

**Last Edited: 13.08.2013**


	2. Chapter 1

_**For those who had read the original version, I have added a few more details and cleared up some of the mistakes. There is a new scene at the end of the chapter. I hope is better now.**_

**I do not own Harry Potter and I never will.**

**See the end of the chapter for more notes**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter One<strong>_

_First Night Back_

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**.**

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"_**My name is Harry, Harry Potter."**_

"_**I know. Everyone here knows who you are. You are the one who doesn't know who anyone is."**_

"_**I am… sorry."**_

"_**Georg. Grausam. You better remember it since we are now friends."**_

"_**We are?"**_

"_**Yes, we are. You'll be a great boost to my reputation."**_

"_**WHAT?"**_

_._

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Harry Potter was finally back at Hogwarts. After the year spent in Durmstrang he had finally returned to the best school for magic (or so people said) and it took less than a minute for everyone to see that he had changed. He smiled more and it was no longer shyly, laughed louder, flirted with every girl he spoke and looked careless.

"… and then Ivan, the caretaker, comes from behind the corner, smiling like Snape when he gets to terrorize first-years Gryffindors, and asks 'Oh, what do we have here – a couple of second-years out of bed. You wouldn't happen to be pulling a prank, would you?'" the said celebrity was currently retelling one of his so-called 'adventures' in the foreign school. Everybody around him hung for every word that came out of his mouth.

The Weasley twins looked like Christmas had come earlier, their minds working in the highest speed possible and mentally taking notes for prank ideas. Lee Jordan, not to be left behind them, was preparing a list of all things they would need to get from Hogsmeade. Some of the girls made sounds of astonishment after hearing Harry's story.

The narrator was, most of the time, making all sorts of gestures to make everything more real. He spoke quietly and slowly when he explained how he and his friend were sneaking around, his voice became louder and louder until… BAM he hit the table with both hands to create sound effects.

"And?" Dean Tomas, a Muggle-born third-year (who simply could not wait any more to hear what happens next) urged Harry. The dark-haired boy only raised an eyebrow at the question.

"I used my natural charm" a wink at the girls around him, "and intelligence, of course. What else?"

"Oh, come on Harry, tell us what you did?" said Seamus with (and he would deny it to his final breath) a whine.

"Yeah, stop keeping us in dark, mate," some random fourth-year added. In the back of his mind Harry wondered who he was but then shrugged it off, it wasn't that important at the moment anyway.

"Fine," he let out an exaggerated sigh, "I'll tell you. So, Georg and I are standing there, caught in the middle of pulling one of the best pranks ever, and don't know what to do. Ivan gives as the 'I-am-going-to-get-you-in-so-much-trouble' look and waits for answer. Then I, the most awesome prankster in the world, look at him and ask, in a very bad German, 'But didn't the Headmaster said that curfew is lifted for tonight, or did I hear wrong?' then Georg smacks my head and says angrily 'I shouldn't have believed you! You hardly understand a word in German, of course, you misinterpreted something and now we are both in trouble.' I start apologizing, we go like that for another few minutes, and Ivan actually believed us. His exact words were 'I'm going to turn my back at you and walk down this corridor, when I return I don't want to find you here, understood?' and walked away. I mean, how draft can a person be? Good thing that the spell had a time set, though, or we would have found ourselves in Karkaroff's office. Would have been totally worth it. You should have seen the teachers when they realized that they were all neon pink. Too bad we didn't take pictures," by the time he finished almost everybody were rolling in laughter. _Almost_ being the key word here.

There was one person who wasn't humored by this even one bit. Hermione Granger's lips were brought together in a thin line and her brown eyes held a stern look resembling McGonagall's. For the past hour and a half, she had been listening to all Harry's stories and with each minute she saw how much different he was since she last saw him. She hadn't thought it was a bad change at the beginning but now she wasn't so sure. He seemed more relaxed and self-sure but his confidence was board line arrogance. He looked proud of breaking the rules, no, not just proud but also pleased. Like this was some sort of achievement rather than the bad thing that it was.

Yes, she had broken a few rules (ok, a lot) during the past couple years but that was because she had to, not because she was bored and wanted a good laugh. True, none of his pranks sounded mean, just not rally pleasant for the victim but it was the matter of principle here. Pulling pranks was wrong and that was it. Harry wasn't supposed to do such things, he was supposed to follow the rules and do what people do at school – study, not this.

No matter how indignant she was, however, Hermione couldn't help but wonder what had trigged this change in him. His whole new behavior (and looks) couldn't have just appeared out of nowhere. Everything, from his manner of speaking to his stance, to his demeanor, was different.

He held his head high with newly obtained confidence, there was a small smirk on his lips that some would describe it as arrogant, other – flirtatious didn't fell, his emerald eyes were shining brightly looking straight into you without averting to the ground. He spoke loudly so many could hear him, not just those next to him, and without a doubt that those people would listen to him. He flirted with all girls around him (except her, Hermione noted mentally not knowing whether she should be pleased about this or offended) without shame, as if it was a game. And, on some points, Harry was actually bragging.

That was the biggest change of all, Hermione realized with a start. The Harry Potter she had known never bragged for anything, not even when he became the youngest Seeker in the century and even not when he singlehandedly stopped You-know-who, again.

Now, when she thought back, she would remember how he looked like in the train: a small, thin boy with glasses that had most certainly seen better times and clothes too big for him and too old to be worn at all. He was shy, almost never the first to start a conversation and not the one to ask questions, even when he obviously struggled to understand something.

Perhaps the stories he had told them of his relatives weren't so exaggerated after all. The young witch never truly believed him in that department. She couldn't imagine her own aunt starving her regularly and uncle blaming everything on her. But what if he was telling the truth, it was a possibility she never really considered because that would mean that the Dursley abused him and he had lived in that environment for years. Then, after finally going away from them, he had entered a completely new world where everyone knew his name and more about him than himself. Never being in the spotlight, always the one in shadows, the freak, this had to have been quite a shock. And with no one to explain him things properly he had been quite literally lost.

Apparently, someone in Durmstrang had done this, trough. Being away from his 'family' and not somewhere everybody considered him as some sort of a mythical hero had done wonders with him. And that was good. But then again, breaking the rules was anything but something she approved.

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Being back with his friends felt great. Granted, he wasn't talking to them in particular, but to a rather large audience but still. Even the little fact that he was speaking in English was amazing. There had been times when he wanted nothing more than being able to speak in his mother language and know that everyone would understand him. Harry tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being in the centre of the attention (result of leaving with the Dursley and natural shy disposition) and enjoy it.

While talking he couldn't help but mentally compare the two schools. Here, there were four tables for each house and fifth one situated perpendicularly to the others and on a small podium. In Durmstrang, there were only two tables. One was for the teachers and was situated in the back of the room. That table always had a scarlet tablecloth with the school crest on it. The other one was significantly bigger. It was U-shaped looking toward the other table. The tablecloth was in a dark shade of blue, almost black and didn't had the crest. The wood used for the furniture was in a soft oak color, trough Harry suspected that the material wasn't oak. While in Hogwarts, there was one huge window behind the main table, in Durmstrang almost the entire back wall was a window. There were swords and bows with arrows, and flags hanging from the sealing decorating the foreign hall instead of the house symbols here. The school crest occupied the middle of the window; some student had once told Harry that it had taken about two decays for this piece of art to be made. It sure seemed like it. Even the smallest detail was there, made with great care.

Harry smiled slightly at the memory of it. The castle, while not very big and not nearly as magnificent as Hogwarts, had its own unique side that the boy had learnt to love. The mornings, for example, used to be dreadful. Wherever Durmstrang was, he never did understand (though he had his theories), was cold, freezingly cold, especially in the mornings. He was supposed to go to breakfast at six-thirty - seven and the temperature rarely was more than ten degrees (during the _summer_ months) so it was obvious way he found it so difficult to get out of the warm bed, take a shower and dress up. Not to mention that fire was only used for educational purpose; it was mid-November when Vanessa had finally introduced him to the heating charm and he stopped feeling like a walking ice-cube with fur cloth. Getting up early (even if freezing) had one good (or several, but he couldn't think of another) side – the morning sun illuminated the whole hall, its beans going through the crest and coloring the grey walls in green, golden and red. The dancing lights were breath taking.

The area the castle was situated wasn't bad, either. There were many small mountains and lakes on and surrounding the grounds of the school. The woods were wilder than the Forbidden Forest even if there weren't as many magical creatures in them. Despite the cold, the teen often found himself outside, wandering throughout the forests more times than he could count. He enjoyed the peace and quiet there, disturbed only by the birds' songs and the occasional animal.

The classes there were different from the ones in Hogwarts. The basic information was more or less the same. Both schools thought the same things, but the way it was presented could be radically different in some cases. While there was little difference in the way Transfiguration and Charms, for example, were presented, Snape and Korasev couldn't be any more different. For one thing, in Durmstrang they concentrated in rare potions, poisons and antidotes, while in Hogwarts they learnt day-to-day stuff. Not to mention the way better approach Professor Korasev had.

Then there were the Dark Arts. In Durmstrang, students studied the theory behind them and their history as well as casting curses. It was a strange experience to say at least. During the year, he had spent in the magical world people had been telling him that the Dark Arts were evil, that they should be forbidden and he, in his naivety, had believed them. Had taken their word for Gospel and not once stopped to _think. _Never had he asked the simple question '_Why?' _and wanted an elaborated answer, something different from '_Because they are evil, Harry, everybody knows that.'_

That was wrong, though, he was certain that the old dark families didn't believe that. They believed in power and power was in the Dark Arts, but, as the saying went, power corrupts even the lightest souls. It was no wonder that Voldemort was known as one of the evilest wizards in the century – his arsenal of dark magic was incredible, almost as big as Grindelwald's but the man had mostly concentrated in German and its neighbor countries, so the British didn't fear him as much as his younger counterpart.

His classmates weren't quite the same, either. There were whispers following him everywhere he went (which was why he enjoyed his strolls in the surrounding forests) but people were somehow a bit more discreet about their interest in his persona. Moreover, the reason behind that interest was different. There he was, the new kid who transferred for his second year from England, speaking sufficient German and too shy for someone with his status. He was an enigma, a riddle most of them wanted to solve but had decided to give him space to adjust first, something he hadn't had at Hogwarts, and he was thankful for that. Of course, there were those who wanted a 'piece of him' so to speak. Children and relatives of disgraced Death Eaters that had just 'roughed him up a bit'.

"Tell us something else, Harry!" a second-year (Colin something he recalled but wasn't sure) spoke up eagerly, snapping him out of his thoughts. The kid was far too star-struck for Harry's liking. There was only so much time before he would snap and do something to make the boy stop following him.

"Like what?" asked Harry, playing dumb. He wasn't in the mood of more story-telling. His throat hurt from talking non-stop for an hour and a half loud enough so more people could hear him. Not to mention the look Hermione had been giving him for awhile was somewhat unnerving, like she wanted to give him a detention or something. She looked like the Charms teacher at Durmstrang, usually stern, but if you messed up – downright scary.

"Like the last one, please!" the boy (he was getting more and more annoying with his wide eyes looking at him like Harry had all the answers to every single question on the world) pleaded.

"I can't," said Harry with a sigh.

"Because you hadn't done more pranks?" asked Hermione hopefully. The teen almost felt bad for shattering this hope. Emphasis on almost. Pranking was way to fun to be stopped after some minor jokes.

"No," he answered and faked a yawn, "I'm just too tired for that. I'm going to turn in for the night," announced Harry and stood up. "Are you coming?" he asked, looking at his best friends. The two just followed him silently.

They had made it halfway to the Gryffindor Tower and no one had spoken a word. Each was too busy with their own thoughts to start a conversation. At last, Harry had had enough of this.

"So," he said with a grin, "tell me what happened here while I was gone."

Ron and Hermione shared a look and the bushy haired girl spoke up. "Well, you remember what we told you about the Chamber of Secrets, right?" the teen nodded in affirmatively. "We, I mean Ron and I, though it was Malfoy and decided to brew a Polyjuice potion… why are you laughing like that?" she asked annoyed. Harry, who was indeed laughing as if he had heart the funniest joke, took a few moments before calming down so he could answer.

"Because the stupid git would have told the whole school the first day in his first year had that been true. And Dumbledore would have suspected him if he was the Heir and made it very difficult for him to open the Chamber," he explained and waived to show her to continue. The girl, slightly insulted that hers (and Ron's of course) theory had been so easily called down, did so.

"Anyway, we managed to do finish the potion by Christmas and went to the Slytherin common room to ask him as Crabbe and Goal…"

"In the dungeons, mate, in the dungeons!" exclaimed Ron interrupting Hermione. She scolded at him and didn't resume talking… not that she would have been able to since Ron took from where she had left. "So, after we took Malfoy out of our Suspects-list we had no ideas what to do. The situation was getting bad and I mean really bad. No one wanted to go outside their Common rooms; everybody moved in groups - large groups - and the Minister even arrested Hagrid and he was forced to spend almost a month in Azkaban. Then Ginny was found by a prefect collapsed in the Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," by that point Ron was speaking really fast and Harry (after a whole year speaking German and Russian and very little English) had some trouble understanding him. He was able to tell what his friend wanted to say but not which word exactly he had used. The teen mentally cursed this particular side effect of the language-learning spell.

"It turned out that she had been possessed by some evil diary," Harry snorted quietly at the expression, Ron could be so _childish and naïve_ sometimes, seriously - evil diary. "And that diary had made her open the Chamber. She was so shocked after she learnt that."

"Not many know, trough," Hermione was finally able to take the word from her red-haired friend. Her voice was soft and quiet; it was obvious that she sympathized with the youngest Weasley. "So, don't go spreading this around. The poor girl has already been through a lot. She doesn't need this."

"Of course I won't do something like that 'Mione," the other boy exclaimed indignantly. "Beside, this was last year, right, and the 'evil diary'," he tried real hard not to use sarcasm here, "was destroyed, so no need to worry," he looked thoughtful for a moment before adding. "Well, there _is_ Black at loose who, according the Minister, wants to kill me for some kind of revenge over his_ master_ but I doubt he will be able to sneak into Hogwarts, so no worries." After he finished his sentence, he saw the looks his friend were giving him and cursed his big month. He barley suppressed the urge to cover his ears when Hermione cried a_ what._

Good thing the portrait of the Fat Lady was in front of them and gave him a passable excuse to cut this conversation. Now, only if Hermione would forget about his slip-up tomorrow, but with his luck he doubted it.

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The night was warm. That was unusual for the season, as he had discovered during the past couple of weeks. This year September was much colder that any he remembered. However, his memories weren't to be trusted, not any more.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. It was dark, but he had the feeling that even if it had been the brightest day, he still wouldn't know where he was. It was village, with clean paved streets and small houses with perfectly trimmed front and backyards. It looked just like the last three villages he had passed and if it were not for the smell, he would have thought that he was running in circles.

He was hungry, so hungry. At least he wasn't cold anymore, but what could compare to the cold brought forth by the guards of Azkaban.

He was also tired. All he wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. Sleep for hours and hours and never wake up. He would be happy there, in his dreams, in death, if he could remember what happy was.

No, he needed to catch **him**. He had to find **him** and catch **him**, lest **he** hurt Harry. James would never forgive him if he didn't do it.

But, oh, how he longed to sleep. How he longed to just fall asleep and disappear.

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><p><em>And this was the second chapter. Hope you liked it and if you did review. If you didn't review to tell me what you didn't like. <em>

_I have posted a link in my profile to a rough sketch of what I imagine Durmstrang's Great Hall. It's not good but if you are curious you can see it. _

_Again, not much action here, but I'm still setting up the background. _

_Good night/day_

**Last Edited: 27.08.2013**


	3. Chapter 2

**_For those who had read the original version, I have added a few more details and cleared up some of the mistakes. I hope it's better now, but there aren't much actual plot-related changes._**

**I do not own Harry Potter and I never will.**

**See the end of the chapter for more notes.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Two<strong>_

_Old Place, New Faces_

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"_**You are the Potter Heir! How come you don't behave like one?"**_

"_**I am what exactly?"**_

"_**The heir to the Potter fortune. You know, that old rich British House?"**_

"_**I have no idea what you are talking about, Georg."**_

"_You__** have absolutely **__no __**idea about anything?"**_

"_**Why do I suddenly feel like an imbecile?"**_

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It was nearly five thirty when Harry woke up. It was a bit early (fine, it was a lot earlier than any sane person would wake up willingly) but he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. Not that there was any point of him doing so, since he would just have to wake up after an hour or so. The teen could easily think of several more interesting things to do rather than simply go to sleep.

Besides, Harry wasn't all that tired. He was surprisingly well rested. On the other hand, it was not so strange considering how early he went to bed last night. He cringed internally, after remembering the actual hour (and he would forever deny that he had gone to bed before eleven). Then again, it was better than being interrogated by Hermione. He would need to do something about it.

Harry put those thoughts aside and, as quickly and as quietly as possible, slip through the curtains of his four-chambered bed and walked to his trunk. He took some clothes, the one he usually wore during flying, and went to the bathroom to take a shower and change.

Unbeknown to him, the past year had made him rather vain about his looks. The teen spent approximately fifteen minutes in front of the mirror making his hair look as messy as possible in a way he had learnt girls found 'dashing' or whatever. He wore only a pair of black trousers from a very soft and comfortable material, a red T-shirt and the fingerless leather gloves Victor had given him for Quidditch.

Satisfied with his looks, Harry left the bathroom and once again went to his trunk. There he found his new broom. It had been quite the surprise when he received it for his birthday. The _Firebolt_ was amazing. It responded even to his slightest command and was way faster than his old _Nimbus 2000._

Harry, as every Quidditch fan, knew a lot about different kind of broomsticks and could easily tell that this model probably would not be topped easily. A professional raising broom from this caliber overshadowed his old _Nimbus _with ease. And while Harry, by no means, had left his firs broom lying around (it was actually in the bottom of his trunk if he ever need it), sometimes felt like laughing with glee at how much better the _Firebolt_ was. Victor, as a professional player, had gotten in from one of the team sponsors but since he already had one (as a Quidditch maniac and a member of a very rich pureblood family from Bulgaria) he had given it to Harry. The green-eyed boy recalled himself thinking that this was some sort of prank but now (clutching the hold of the broom in his left hand) he knew it wasn't. And, even if Victor had second-thoughts about giving it to him then he would be disappointed because Harry was not returning it to him. No way in Hades!

In the back of his mind, the Potter heir noted that the weather here was much warmer that in Durmstrang. Typically, by now, he would have had a warming charm on him but (even if it was an early September morning) he didn't feel the need to place it. It was quite warm. Harry looked at the sky and couldn't find a single cloud. There was a soft breeze - the perfect weather for flying.

He took off and closed his eyes as he was gaining more and more speed and height. He loved the feeling of the air around him, the freedom of flying, and the adrenalin that came from his most dangerous cascades.

Harry suddenly stopped in midair. He opened his eyes and looked down wondering how much far he was from the ground. The answer - a lot. The pitch was only a small green spot beneath him. His lips curved into a happy smile. Before he realized his hands had moved to the front of the handle and he was pulling a sharp dive. About a meter from the ground, he suddenly stopped the falling, pulled the broom vertically and stared gaining height again.

He repeated this maneuver several times. Each time he would go faster and faster, until there was no more 'faster'.

Harry didn't know how much time he had spent flying but right before he tried another of his 'harmless tricks' he heard a loud whistle. The teen looked down and saw the new DADA teacher on the ground with his fingers between his lips, whistling again. Diving, he went to see what his teacher wanted from him. He wasn't in trouble, right? He hadn't done anything yet (he hadn't had the chance to do anything yet).

"Good morning, sir," greeted the Gryffindor Lupin once he was on the ground. "Is there a problem?" he put his confused face asking as innocently as possible. Harry really wished he could remember if there was a rule against flying early in the morning. Maybe he should have gone to the Forbidden Forest, no one would have seen him there and caught him breaking the rules as he had probably done.

"You haven't broken any rules, Harry" said Professor Lupin, as if reading his thoughts, "but flying over the Forbidden Forest _would _earn you a week worth detention," maybe he_ really_ was reading his thoughts. What was the thing called again? _Legilimasy_ or something, he should have listened to Lisa more. "No, I am not reading your thoughts, I'm just good at guessing."

"You seem sure you guessed right," said Harry with a grin, the kind that would make Snape take fifty points from his House for cheek. Fortunately this wasn't the Potions Master but the Defense teacher whose only reaction was to laugh softly.

"So my assumptions were incorrect, then," the older man's voice was even, as if he was asking about the weather but his amber eyes were shining with amusement. Harry humpfed_ and_ answered with all dignity he could summon.

"No," he trailed off but continued quickly, "but what if you were wrong?" again with this check, only if Snape was here, he would have field day. On a second thought, it was for the best that he was in the dungeons and not here.

"Then I would have been wrong," the professor shrugged uninterested. He motioned the student to follow him and the two headed toward the castle. "Those were some very dangerous cascades you pulled out there. Nearly gave me a heart attack and believe me this is not that easy. Should I prepare myself for something similar during the Quidditch games?" he asked lightly. However, the ex-Gryffindor wasn't joking when he said that he nearly had a heart attack. Seeing the son of his dead best friend flying (or falling as he had thought for a moment) toward the ground terrified him. It looked as if the boy was going to crash only to pull back in the last possible moment (or long after that) and then he did it again and again, going faster and faster. And the times when he stood on his broom, thirty meters above the ground, no less. Yes, Remus John Lupin had the distant felling that at least half of his hair (if not more) would have changed into permanent white before the end of the year.

The boy (he knew he was thirteen and therefore a teen but in his eyes Harry would always stay a boy) only laughed at his question. The striking resemblance he had to James (if possible) increased and for a second Remus could pretend that this was James laughing after a good game of Quidditch at the ridiculous (for him) thought that he could have hurt himself doing some of his so-called tricks. Remus had always referred to them as 'dangerous and pointless cascades'.

"Sir," Harry's voice held some respect but not nearly enough, as he should have had toward his teacher, the older man noted absently, "you haven't even seen my best."

"Then Merlin helps me because I'll definitely be in St. Mungo," the teacher said with a small smile. The teen laughed at the joke.

"Let's hope you won't," was his answer. "'Mione would forbid me to fly again if my performance in the games send our Defense teacher in hospital. Not to mention the hours I would be forced to listen how it is my fault that her education is being held back," he shuddered dramatically, "Oh, the horror!" he added for extra effect

"I guess I would be looking forward of having her in my classroom," the other commented. "The big question is would I be looking forward of having _you_ in my classroom."

"Who knows?" said Harry with a carefree smile. He had almost entirely forgotten that this man was his teacher. He joked and was easy-going and Harry made a mental note not to disturb his class. Besides, Defense was one of his favorites. "By the way sir, could you tell me the time?"

"About seven thirty," Lupin answered after he did a quick _Tempus_ spell. "You should head to the tower if you want to have a proper shower before going to breakfast," Harry cringed his nose at the mention of _shower_

"I don't smell, do I?" he asked. Honestly, he couldn't smell anything _that_ bad but it was a possibility.

"No," the professor erased his worries quickly, "not much, but I think you would want to refresh. At least,_ I_ would." The boy nodded his head in understanding.

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you in class professor. Have a nice day," the teacher only smiled and nodded before parting their ways.

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The walk to the Gryffindor tower was a short one, or at least Harry thought so. He hardly noticed anything around him. At least the corridors were empty; the other students were still sleeping or just getting up. It was nice, he thought absentmindedly, walking once more around the first place he had called home.

However, that wasn't what had preoccupied his thoughts. No, it was the conversation he had had just a couple of minutes ago with his Defense teacher and the man himself, as well. It was strange, being able to joke and talk freely with someone he hardly new, someone who was a _teacher_. That was the problem, Harry decided, he felt as if he had known the man from before. From a dream… from a dream, he could hardly remember. The odd feeling of _home_ confused him even more. Did the professor knew his parents and trough them he had met him? but that made no sense. Lily and James Potter died when he was fifteen months old.

Even if that was it, there was no way he could find the truth. It wasn't like Harry could go to Professor Lupin's office and say: 'Excuse me sir, but I think I know you. Have we met by any chance?' Yeah right, this wasn't happening any time soon. If he was truthful with himself, Harry would admit that he was rather afraid of the answer he might receive. If his suspicions were true – good, great even, but then what. Yes, he would love to hear more about his parents but at one point or another, the Dursley would come into the conversation and what could he tell. That he hated them, despised them, that they were the reason if Voldemort ever come into power again he would make sure that his 'relatives' were captured by his minions and tortured? Or, perhaps, how his aunt and uncle treated him (worst than a house-elf) compared to his fat cousin. He could say the truth that he couldn't care less about them, but most just assumed that he felt anger and hatred towards them. He could always say nothing, but, as his friends in Durmstrang had informed him, there was this glint in his eyes that immediately gave away that there was something more. And once the teen starts about his 'family' he would rant for hours and that would be humiliating. He was trying to build an image of a cheeky, cool Gryffindor who happened to be famous. He was to be calm (at most occasions), charming (for the girls), always to have the last word (or hex) and so on. Ranting about how awful his family is wouldn't help him much. In addition, there was the possibility that the Professor didn't even knew his parents. No, talking to him was out of question.

Without realizing it, Harry had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Deciding to humor a passing though after her usual question ("Password?") instead of answering he asked what her name was. Soon he found out that this wasn't his best idea.

"It had been so long before someone asked me," she said between tears and sobs. Harry started to regret his curiosity. "I just don't understand way no one seems to care. I have been here, guarding the entrance of Godric's tower for years, but I can count the times someone asked for my name on my hands and still have enough fingers to held a glass of wine," by now Harry was praying to whoever was listening to him to stop this torture. However, the Fat Lady soon brought his attention back to her with her next words.

"The young Black, Sirius was his name, asked me the same question nearly twenty years ago. He was without his friend, James Potter, and politely asked me what my name was. He was such a gentleman," his father had been friends with the infamous mass murderer. How was that possible? Harry, of course, knew his family three and through this his connection with the Blacks (actually, he was a possible heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black because of grandmother, Dorea Potter, nee Black, but that was irreverent) but his father – a Potter, to befriend a Black (the heir, no less), that was impossible. Even if they were seconds cousins something. And how did Black knew where the Gryffindor tower was, judging by the words of the pink woman he had come here regularly. Was he a Gryffindor? Come to think of it, he had heard some older students talking about the Blacks in Durmstrang. They had mentioned something about a scandal and a hypocrite. Harry hadn't been able to understand their conversation then (and he was sure that they had mentioned the family just in passing) but now it kind of made sense. He really needed to think this trough… and find documentation about the students from twenty years ago.

"It is Eliza, by the way," the portrait brought his attention back to her. "My name – is Eliza." Harry nodded and smiled politely. After the usual (well, not so usual), 'It's a pleasure to meet you' he said the password ('Fortuna Major') and entered the common room. He saw some students leaving their dormitories and heading to breakfast. They shoot him curious looks, probably wondering way he was awake but after a monition to his broom, they seemed satisfied. A boy a couple of years older gave him a jealous look seeing his _Firebolt_ but his girlfriend quickly led him to the exit after giving Harry a small smile.

Not so many were awake, the teen noted. It _was_ early in the morning and most of his housemates were still on summer regime, namely – waking up late.

This is way he wasn't surprised to find his roommates sleeping. Like a few hour ago (was it so little, it felt like an eternity ago with all the things he had on his mind) he moved as quietly as possible and, after taking his school uniform, he went to the bathroom.

About ten minutes later, he emerged from it, fresh and with a confident smirk on his face. His hair was still as messy as ever (as he liked it, who cares about proper looks), his uniform – in the same way he wore it last night: the shirt was half unbuttoned, his tie hung around his neck and his robes open.

The teen looked at his sleeping roommates and grinned mischievously. He went to Ron's bed and pulled the curtains. Then he slowly and carefully placed his left arm at his best mate's month and shook him with his right. It didn't take long to wake him up and thank Marlin he had taken care of the possible noise or Ron would have ruined his plans.

"What's wrong with you, mate?" the red-head said, or tried to, at least, it sounded more like 'Whwgumt?' through Harry's hand.

"Keep quiet or you will wake the others," the other boy hissed and took his hand off his friend's mouth. "Now, here's the plan…" during the 'presentation' Ron, who had been, if not angry, then pissed changed his mood completely. By the end of it, he had the same wicked grin as Harry. He stood up and went to Neville's bed (Harry chose Seamus), waiting for the signal.

"One," the two prepared, "two," they were ready, "THREE! WAKE UP!" they screamed the last part throwing themselves in the beds. While Neville and Seamus were woken up by screams and somebody throwing themselves over their bodies, Dean had a different experience. Since there was no way for Harry and Ron to wake him up like the other two, the young celebrity had thought for something else. The counting was not only for better synchrony but also for the countdown of a spell placed on Dean's bed. On three, in the moment his two sleeping roommates felt somebody weight over them, he heard a _SPLASH_ and found himself completely wet and smelling like lavender. He was going to kill whoever did this!

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR!?" the three screamed on the top of their lungs. Perhaps someone in Hogsmeade hadn't heard them. Seamus and Neville pushed Harry and Ron from their beds to the ground but even the hard impact with the floor didn't decrease their laughter.

Some minutes later, still chuckling, the two managed to stand up and found themselves face to face with an angry Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan. Dean Tomas was in the bathroom trying to wash away the perfume.

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><p><em>OK, I hope you liked it. It isn't my best but I had already delayed it enough so… <em>

_Anyway, you got to see more of the 'new' Harry, did you liked it Also I am very proud of including two (three) Marauders in this chapter. As you see Sirius is going to play a slightly bigger role here than in the cannon. I am still thinking whereas I should let the rat escape or not but this is far, far away. _

_Good night/day_


	4. Chapter 3

_At the bottom, I have posed Harry's timetable and all third year students. __

**Chapter Three**

**Of Numbers and Runes**

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"_**You think it's funny, don't you?"**_

"_**Actually, I think it is rather sad, really. The great Harry Potter cannot brew a simple boil-curing potion. It's hilarious!"**_

"_**Stop laughing…**_

"_**Seriously, Vanessa…**_

"_**Stop laughing!"**_

"_**You know, all you need to do is ask?"**_

"_**Ask what?"**_

"_**Me, to help you with Potions."**_

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It was a quarter past eight when the Gryffindor boys were finally ready to head to the Great Hall for breakfast. In Durmstrang (and Harry kept comparing everything to Durmstrang in his head) classes began at seven thirty and the situation was rather uncomfortable.

On Harry's instance, they went together. Allegedly, he wanted to catch up and his dorm mates took his explanation in stride. It had nothing to do with the fact that Harry was almost certain he would get lost. Nothing at all. Throughout the entire (and at the end thankfully) short trip Ron and Seamus complained loudly about Malfoy and how unfair was that he bought his place in the team. How bad he was in Quidditch ('You will crash him every day') and how his play nearly cost the Slytherins their victory. "Not that it's a bad thing. And now that you're back, that blond git is going to get his smug smirk wiped out," laughed Ron gleefully.

Dean, on the other hand, had found their previous Defense teacher worst than any Quidditch scandal. According to him (and the others), the man had been a complete idiot. On their first lesson, he had given them a 'short' quiz about the most important things in their books (his whole collection of 'true' adventures). The said quiz had consisted of questions like 'What the favorite color of GL is?', 'What is GL's secret ambition?' and even 'What is the ideal present for GL birthday?' Harry suddenly felt glad that he had decided to humor the house-elf and went to a different school last year. The idea of having to look this pompous pig whole year made him sick. However, there had been more of the lesson. Professor Lockhart had brought a cage full of Cornish Pixies. The way Dean said it they sounded dangerous.

"But they aren't that dangerous," he exclaimed between fits of laughter. "We used them in Durmstrang a lot during the first month. For a target practice, I mean," he added looking at the bewildered faces of his housemates.

"But you had a competent teacher, right?" asked Neville and then elaborated. "Lockhart couldn't even cast one spell at them."

"He couldn't have been _that_ bad!" said Harry unbelievingly. "I mean, even that Onegin girl could hit them and, oh, was she bad! Brilliant at potions and defense, utterly useless in offensive magic.

"Worst mate, it was much worst," the read-head told him with a grieve voice. The other three solemnly nodded their heads in agreement.

"You haven't heart the best part," Seamus continued. "It turned out that everything he had written in the books was a lie. He had obliviated those who truly did all the things in the books and took the credit. He was sent in Azkaban, of course, for twenty years I believe?"

"Twenty-four, actually," Neville corrected him and instantly blushed when the others turned towards him. "G-gran told me it was very hush, hush. The purebloods didn't ant other countries learning of this."

"Speaking of Azkaban," Ron interrupted in his typical boisterous manner, uninterested in the politics behind Lockheart's imprisonment. "Did you hear about Sirius Black?" asked he with a quieter voice, as if the escaped convict would hear him and come to kill him for daring to speak about his persona. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. How did he escaped from there, trough? This place was supposed to be worst than Nurmenegard, the prison that Grindelwald build and impossible to escape from."

"Nobody knows. Dad, he works in the Ministry remember, told me that the Aurors have been investigating non-stop since July. Amelia Bones, she is the head of the Department if Law Enforcement, Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the Auror Office, and the Minister meet about three times a week to discuss the possibilities. I don't think anybody has an idea how it happened. Black spent twelve years there, _twelve_! Dad went there once, it was from work about something, and it took him a couple of days to gather himself. He was a wreck!" Harry nodded. Every normal person will be a wreck if they meet a Dementor and there were _hundreds_ in Azkaban. "… and the Dementors are going to guard the school this year…"

"WHAT!" Several students turned their attention to the boys, specifically Harry, after his shout. He, however, ignored them. "You are telling me that the black mass I saw when I flew from Hogsmeade were Dementors. There have to be dozens out there!" His classmates only nodded.

"A few got up the train to see if Black was there. It was awful," Neville, who looked a bit green, added. The other three agreed instantly.

"You were lucky to miss the train ride mate, trust me," was all Seamus could say when Harry asked how bad it had been.

"But, but Black already passed through them once. What is stopping him from doing it again? And why would he want to come here, anyway? If I were in his shoes, I would go as far as I can from Britain and never look back. Surly he knows that Voldemort is gone. I mean, wasn't that the reason he killed those Muggles?" the Potter heir was well aware that he was, in fact, blabbing but the situation had made him forget all manners he had acquired during his stay at Durmstrang. It was absurd, why would the Ministry think that Black would come here if they didn't have reasons to believe that he was after something. The image of a blood red stone crossed his mind. Then Quirrell – the Defense teacher with the strange purple turban. And, at last, what was under the turban – the killer of his parents, the spirit, shade of Lord Voldemort himself. Was it possible? Could _he_ enter the prison, posses one of the prisoners and help him escape? He hoped no because that would mean only one thing. Black/Voldemort was after him.

They couldn't finish the conversation because the Great Hall was in front of them and leaving it was none other than Draco Malfoy. The blond was just as Harry remembered him. He still had the superior smirk Harry had learnt to connect with old wealthy pure blood families, his skin was as pale as before, his grey eyes cold. The Gryffindor didn't have trouble recognizing his entourage. Crabbe and Goyle stood a little behind him on his sides, acting as bodyguards. 'Gorillas' was the first word that popped into Harry's mind. Too much inbreeding had negative effects but, apparently, their families hadn't gotten the memo.

Next to Malfoy was Pansy Parkinson. She wasn't the prettiest girl in school but the raven noted that she looked a little better than three years ago. She was still hard-faced but at the age of thirteen, she had finally started to look like a girl. Her brown hair didn't lay so flat anymore, which opened her face a little more. She definitely wasn't pretty trough, the typical Slytherin sneer and malicious glare destroyed the illusion of beauty she had tried to create with lots of makeup.

The last person, however, was someone he knew. It was a girl with auburn hair that brushed her shoulders and cornelian eyes seemed deeper than the Black Lake. Sally-Anne Perks had been present to the New Year Gala and, as the only other person their age, had spent the rest of the evening with him and his friends. The girl was polite and a little shy but after she got more comfortable with them, Harry found out that she had great sense of humor and was an excellent dancer. The teen enjoyed her company a lot and even wrote her a couple of times. He had somehow managed to forget that she also studied on Hogwarts.

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled and nodded his head in greeting. "Master Malfoy, Master Crabbe, Heir Goyle, Lady Parkinson, Lady Sally-Anne Good morning."

Startled, Malfoy automatically nodded as well and gave an "Heir Potter, Good morning" before he could comprehend the situation. His two goons followed his example soon after. The two girls dipped into half-curtseys.

The brunet g let him kiss her hand. His lips barley brushed over the skin while he held Sally's hand. It had taken him nearly four hours to be able to do this correctly. It looked easier than it actually was.

"I am delighted to see you here," he said as he let go of her hand. "It must have slipped of my mind that you attend Hogwarts as well. I hope you can forgive my thoughtlessness and let me make amends. Did you have a nice summer, Lady Sally-Anne?" his manners were perfect. Everybody noted. Harry Potter didn't look like he was raised by Muggles at all.

"It is no problem Heir Harry, forgiven and forgotten," the girl answered with a small shy smile. Her voice was soft and melodic. "My summer was quite satisfactory. I visited my cousins in Italy. I have always fond Rome fascinating. And yourslef?"

"I wish I had had the chance to see the site. A friend of mine, Georg Grausam," the pure-bloods gasped recognizing the last name, "invited me in his summerhouse in France. It was much warmer than I expected," at this the Slytherin laughed echoed by Harry. The others were watching the exchange with barley-hidden curiosity. Not every day a Slytherin and a Gryffindor talked without insulting each other like old friends that have secret jokes. "Well, I suppose we will see each other again, _до__свидания__*_ Lady Sally-Anne," she laughed again.

"Goodbye Heir Harry," she answered with a small smile. The raven returned it and turned his attention toward Malfoy. The blond had a contemplative look on his face or, to be precise, had no expression whatsoever. After giving a nod of acknowledgment, Harry motioned his friends to enter the Hall. He was famished, after all.

"What was that?" Ron asked being the first to restore his voice.

"Just me being polite, that's all," Harry said shrugging his shoulders. "Oh, hey Hermione," said he as he sat next to Hermione. The bushy-haired girl had come down earlier and was speaking to (at least Harry though so) Ron's little sister – Ginny Weasley. Like the rest of her family, she had flaming hair, freckles and her robes seemed a little rough on the edges. Her eyes were in deep brown color and Harry was sure that in a few years she would become a real heartbreaker.

"Hey, Harry," the older girl greeted him cheerfully. "Let me introduce you, Harry this is Ginny Weasley, Ginny, this is Harry Potter."

"It's a pleasure," the teen said with a charming smile. The younger girl, however, blushed deeply (her hair almost seemed pale), murmured something that sounded like 'Nice to meet you', stood from her place and left the Hall. "What happened?" the young celebrity asked a little worried. That had been… unexpected and quite rude of her. As far as he knew, they had never met before, so she couldn't have been insulted or anything.

"That's Ginny for you mate," Ron, who was seated on Harry's other side answered while stuffing his plate with food. "She is just strange. Beacon?" he offered with his mouth full. Harry merely shock his head and turned away from that particular picture.

"Ronald, chew with your mouth closed before talking!" Hermione abolished him ant the Potter heir had to fight off a fond smile. Some things never changed.

Soon after McGonagall appeared with their timetables. Looking at his Harry tried to suppress a groan but Ron, Dean and Seamus had no such reservations.

"It has to be some sort of sick joke. Snape? On our first day!"

"Suddenly I started to hate Thursdays," was all Harry said, ignoring the others. Why did the first day back have to be the worst of the week? Well, the Fridays didn't look nice either.

Dean and Seamus, after a quick look at the time, stood up abruptly and with a hurried 'bye' ran out of the Hall, hoping to get to class before the teacher. Neville followed them the moment he drank the rest of his tea in a much more sedated pace.

"Really, it's not that bad. Look, we even have some of the new subjects today," said the only girl in the group.

"Not that bad?" the redhead said unbelievingly. He snatched Hermione's schedule to see if it was different. It was. It was worst. "You sure you copied it correctly?"

"Yes, way?" she said after a brief examination of the parchment.

"Because, according to this," Ron waved the parchment in front of her, "you have Divination at nine, then Muggle Studies, again at nine and Arithmancy, guess when – _nine._ What do you plan to do? Be at two places at once?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Don't be stupid, Ronald," she scoffed, "how could one person be at two places at the same time. Besides, I have worked everything with Professor McGonagall, so don't worry. Anyway, its nearly nine so we better hurry or we'll be late for class," Harry and Ron ('But I'm still eating') stood up and left the Hall.

"Well, we'll see if you can," the green-eyed boy said tossing an apple in the air and taking a bite carelessly. "Ron has Divination, right?" he elaborated at their questioning looks. The boy nodded to confirm it. "Well, I have Arithmancy and since you have to be at both classes at nine o'clock, we'll see if you can be at two places at the same time. Or three, since you have Muggle Studies as well."

"What else are you taking, mate?" asked a grinning Ron, who failed to notice how his female friend paled instantly. Harry, who was busy eating his apple, didn't see either and just answered with a shrug.

"Ancient Runes, figured if I have to take extra classes, to take the useful ones. Had half a mind to join Care of Magical Creatures but decided not to. I really don't need more homework."

"I doubt we will have homework in CMC. Guess who the teacher is – Hagrid! Cool, eh?"

"Hagrid?" Harry repeated unbelievingly. "Well, he _does_ know a lot about it, with all his _pets_," he chuckled softly.

"You have to see the books, through," Ron continued, trying to ignore the fact that he won't be sharing any classes with his best mate. "Mine tried to bite my hand off," the raven laughed at that. It was so _Hagrid_, to assign a biting book.

Soon Harry was walking alone to his Arithmancy class. Hermione had decided to go with Ron to Divination. The boy frowned. Why would _Hermione Granger _want to go to _Divination_ of all things and not to Arithmancy or Muggle Studies? Well, Arithmancy, since she, as a muggle-born, hardly needed to attend Muggle Studies but this, at least, was a little better than the idea of Seeing the Future. Rubbish, in his opinion, total rubbish. There was this Greek girl in his year at Durmstrang, Calypso Megara, who came from a long line of Seers. According to her, the art of Divination couldn't be leant without talent and even then it was very difficult to make a true prediction since the future was always in motion. There were self-fulfilling prophesies of course, but one would never know what they meant until the end when it was painfully obvious to everybody.

Muggle Studies was another useless subject in Harry's humble opinion. Well, not useless for a pure-blood or a half-blood raised in magical environment since it was better to know a little about the Muggles so one could blend easily but a muggle-born or raised student it _was_ useless. The teen seriously doubted that there would be anything the bushy-haired girl didn't already know. Perhaps the finer points in physics and chemistry but she could read about this in her free time.

Care of Magical Creatures was the last of the electives he didn't choose. While it was a good idea to know how to behave around different kind of beats and seeing some of them up close would be fascinating, this wasn't a class he terribly needed. And now, knowing that it would be Hagrid teaching it he felt relieved that he wasn't attending. Harry was quite fond of the giant man ever since he met him (not to mention grateful for all the things he had done for him) but he also knew that the new professor tried to breed a _dragon_ in his wooden hut. Seeing his love of everything dangerous, the teen couldn't imagine what kind of beasts his friend would bring in class and say that they were 'completely harmless as long as you stay away from the claws, spikes, teeth etc.' Or, in other words, don't go near them without a dragon-hide suit.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn't noticed the two girls walking in front of him, so he nearly bumped into the taller one. They wore the Gryffindor uniform and looked about his age. He faintly remembered meeting them in the beginning of first year.

"You have Arithmancy too?" he asked them. Since they had turned around to see who had disturbed them, the teen though it would be less awkward that way.

"Yes," the taller one, Fay Dunbar, answered and her friend, Lilith 'Lily' Moon, nodded her head. "I wonder what we are going to learn there," she continued. Dunbar had nice voice and soft features. She had long brown hair that reached her shoulder blades, blue eyes and tanned skin. Moon, on the other hand, was considerably shorter with ginger hair in two braids, paler skin and darker eyes than Fay. She was cute; her face bore innocence typical to young children. Unlike her, the other girl was a beauty. The two made a rather strange combination but then again, Ron and Hermione seemed more different from the two friends here.

"So do I," Lily said, joining the conversation, "I can't wait for the lesson," she sounded exited and by the amused smile and slightly exasperated expression on the brunet face this wasn't the first time she had said something like that. "I think it's going to be great. My grandmother was very good at Arithmancy. And my aunt, and my father, and… and I did it again, didn't I?" she felt her cheeks getting hotter and ducked her head embarrassed. It was one thing talking like that to Fay but this was _Harry Potter,_ the boy she, like many other girls, had dreamt of marrying when she had been younger.

When Lily first met him, she expected something more than a polite but shy boy. Something more like the knights with shining armors and white horses from the fairytales. He wasn't but during the year there had been many rumor about the mystical figure of Harry Potter. Some even said that he faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the end of the term. Then he disappeared for a year and appeared like this: a charming, cheeky, polite and nice person. He even talked with them and they didn't even know each other.

And she had embarrassed herself in front of him. It was nightmare. However, let it be noted that Lily Christen Moon did _not_ have a crush on her schoolmate but like every self-respecting girl, she did _not_ want to make a fool of herself in front of a hot boy. That said and doubled by the fact that she grown up with his name, the poor girl wanted to sink into the ground right now.

Harry, on the other hand, found her very similar to Hermione and idly wondered why they weren't friends. Seeing her discomfort, he decided to save her from further embarrassment and pointed to Arithmancy classroom in from of them. The three Gryffindor entered and immediately sat on the second desk together. Since the desks were for three people, it was possible. Fay, taking the role of a mediator and a shield between the two others, chose the seat in the middle. Lily was on her right side, next to the wall, and Harry on her left – near the other roll.

The class itself wasn't big, so here were empty seats. Seamus (the only other Gryffindor besides them) sat next to Wayne Hopkins and Oliver Rivers from Hufflepuff on the first desk in the left row. The blond cheerfully waved at them before turning back to the conversation he was having. Behind them were Susan Bones, Leanne Grace and Megan Jones (again from Hufflepuff). There were only three Slytherins: Daphne Greengrass (who Harry eyed with appreciation for a second), Tracy Davis and Theodor Nott. The ravens were five. Stephen Cornfoot, Michel Corner and Anthony Goldstein were seated two desks behind the Gryffindors and Sue Li and Morag MacDougal were next to them. On the desk behind the Ravenclaw boys, on the right sat the last person from the Arithmancy class. She had the textbook open, hiding her face and was reading as if her life depended on it, judging by the speed she went through the pages.

However, Harry didn't have the chance to notice her because Professor Septima Vector chose this moment to enter. She was in her mid-twenties and, like McGonagall and Snape (even if Harry hated to admit _that_) had the skill to make everybody turn their attention to her. She had long dark brown hair (longer than Fay's), brown eyes and white skin. Her robes were in dark red color similar to those of Durmstrang winter clocks (most students wore then all the time).

There was a long speech about the importance of Arithmancy and its uses, followed by a half-hour lecture full of formulas and methods for 'beginners'. After that, the students were given a list of equations and told to do their best in solving the problems. Harry found them relatively easy but he was one of the little students to do so. For him, the tasks looked like those he had seen in Advance Algebra when he was nine or ten. It wasn't difficult. He just needed to concentrate on the numbers and use the methods Vector gave them. Because of this, he was the first person to finish and to do it long before the others. He gave his paper to the teacher and the stern woman let him leave early.

Harry checked his wristwatch – twenty minutes to Transfiguration. The teen measured his options: he could read ahead for his classes (Merlin knows if Snape was going to quiz them or not), he could wait in front of the Transfiguration classroom or he could do both. Yep, he didn't have so many (none at all) interesting choices. In the end, he decided to do both and revise for Potions. It would do him no good if he failed to answer Snape's questions _again._

Twenty-five minutes later, Harry was seating in the middle of a very quiet Transfiguration classroom. In addition, some of the students (those who had Divination) were looking at him with concern, as if he would fall fatally ill or die in the next moment. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to notice this, so the cat animagus asked what had happened. Neville raised his hand tentatively.

"We just had our first Divination class, Professor," he was about to say more but the stern teacher interrupted him.

"And who will be dying this year?" she asked and all the students looked at her surprised. Did she _have_ the Inner Eye? "My colleague seems to like predicting the death of, at least, one student each year. It's her way to greet the new students, I guess. So, who will be dying this year?" Instead of answering, however, the Divination students only pointed at Harry. The teen, realizing what the situation was, burst out laughing.

"Why does she think I am dying?" he managed to ask between countless fits of laughter.

"Professor Trelawney saw in Ron's cup you and… the _Grim_," Parvati said fearfully. This only caused Harry to start laughing again. "Stop it. Professor Trelawney is a Seer!" the girl cried indignantly echoed by Lavender. Harry discretely rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked trying to hide his amusement. The two girls nodded. The teen sighed. "Oh well, since I'm dying," he put his left hand over his heart and closed is eyes for more effect. "I don't need to write homework, right Professor?" he opened his vivid eyes and looked at McGonagall. The woman's lips were twitching a little when she shook her head.

"No, Mr. Potter," her voice was professional but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes, "you are to write your homework, but" she continued before he interrupted her, "If you _do_ die, you will be excused."

"I guess it is fair," the raven said after a few seconds 'intense' thinking. His classmates laughed and the tension dissolved.

The rest of the class was spent in quiet with all students carefully taking notes. It seemed that this year they would be transfigurating bigger objects and living creatures. It would be more interesting then turning toothpicks into needles that was sure.

Lunch was a quiet affair, the teen thought. Most of the students were tired of the past two classes or nervous about the following ones so no one really spoke much.

There was Ginny, she sat across the table, few sits left and each time she looked at him she would become redder then her hair. Personally, Harry found this hilarious but he wasn't going to embarrass the poor girl, so he kept quiet. Instead, he tried to focus on Hermione and her rant about how the Divination professor was a fraud ('Only because she told you, you don't have talent,' said Ron.) but quickly turned it off. He spent the rest of his meal nodding from time to tame and saying 'yes' and 'no' when he had to. His best friend did the same.

The lunch would have been great had Colin Creevey did not exist, Harry decided. The second-year Gryffindor was like his number one fan and very irritating. The smaller boy did not take 'no' for an answer and simply brushed off Harry's rudeness. He wanted Harry's picture ('to prove that they had met'), Harry's autograph ('it would be so _cool_ if he could have two, one for his little brother, who was not old enough for Hogwarts') and to stare and Harry. The first he would survive, but the later was disturbing. The raven was starting to feel like some fancy animal in a zoo and he didn't like it. Moreover, the boy didn't know how to _shut up! _There were questions, more questions and some other questions coming from Creevey's mouth like a waterfall and even if he wanted to (and he didn't) Harry never got the chance to answer them.

By the end of the lunch, the raven wanted to strangle the annoying boy and brake his camera. He wished he was in Durmstrang.

It took five minutes into the Potion class Harry already missed Colin and his unwanted (and scary) attention. Ten minutes later, he felt mentally exhausted. Snape had quizzed him (as expected) using the (pathetic) excuse of needing to evaluate his progress. If the greasy git wanted to know how much he had learnt in Durmstrang, why did he ask him things from the third-year material? Granted, this summed Harry had read the whole textbook and studied most of it, so it wasn't a problem but what if he hadn't? It was unfair!

The rest of the class was as bad as before. The Potion Master favored his House, looked down at the lions, praised Malfoy and sneered at Hermione and Harry's potions. He screamed a little to Neville but, fortunately, the clumsy boy didn't melt his cauldron or blew up his potion.

There was one small difference, trough. No matter how hard he tried, Snape couldn't detect a problem with Harry's potion. After the long hours spent on Potion Brewing with his 'teacher' (she did act like one), the teen knew more about potions and found it easier to brew them. It didn't hurt that he had already done this one last year. Discretely, Harry looked around and with pride realized that his potion was the best.

After the class was dismissed (with a rather nasty homework), the Gryffindors went to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin. All of his classmates were excited about it. They all hoped that this teacher would be better than the previous ones.

The class was rather boring. They listened to a lecture about some dark creature (Harry didn't bother to remember its name) and took notes. It was obvious that the man in front of them knew his subject and liked it. Lupin spoke gently without raising his voice. He was a layback kind of person who liked teaching if his demeanor was any indication. He answered all questions without hesitation, giving full and detailed answers if the student wanted one. Everybody loved him.

The Potter heir didn't take many notes and, unlike his classmates, barley listen to the lecture. His hand was moving automatically without writing anything of importance, while he was trying to figure out why the man seemed familiar. It was disturbing, really, but there was familiarly in the professor's movements and the way he spoke. However, the Gryffindor couldn't tell why and that was frustrating.

.

.

.

Late at night, while Harry Potter slept peacefully, dreaming of the big prank he was going to pull at the end of the month, a large black dog was walking at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It looked like the Grim and if a student (or a teacher) saw it, they would be terrified. The dog hid in the shadows of the Wimping Willow and a few second later the tree stopped moving. At that moment, the Moon shined and if one were to look they would see a black tail disappearing into hole under the tree.

* * *

><p>*<em>до <em>_свидания__/do svidania means goodbye in Russian. _

* * *

><p><em><span>Monday<span>__: __Tuesday__: __Wednesday__: _

_09.00: - (CMC) 09.00: - 09.00: - _

_11.00: - (Divination) 11.00: - 11.00:History _

_14.00 Transfiguration 14.00:Potions 14.00: - _

_16.00 Potions 16.00: - 16.00: Herbology _

_18.00: DADA 18.00: - 18.00: - _

_00.00: - 00.00: Astronomy 00.00: - _

_Thursday__: __Friday__:_

_09.00: Arithmancy 09.00: Potions_

_11.00: Transfiguration 11.00: Ancient Runes_

_14.00: Potions 14.00: - (Divination)_

_16.00: DADA 16.00:Charms_

_18.00 – (CMC) 18.00:DADA_

**Last revised: 28.12.12**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Celebrating a Birthday**

_._

_._

_._

"_**So…"**_

"_**So?"**_

"_**Yes, so."**_

"…_**You are impossible! What do you want?"**_

"_**Why, my dear friend, you wound me. Why would I want anything?"**_

"_**Because you have that look."**_

"_**I have a look?"**_

"**Yes**_**, now just get it out."**_

"_**Well, Harry."**_

"_**I am so going to regret this." **_

The days soon settled in an easy pattern. Waking up, breakfast, school, lunch, school, Quidditch (Oliver had the brilliant, _ahem _insane, idea to have the team training four times a week before dinner; the team was _not_ amused), dinner (in the rare day he could get to it) and bed. Of course there were other things to do in the mean time. Harry often flirted with all girls age twelve (because the eleven-year-olds were a bit _too_ young) to fifteen (the older ones looked at him as if he was a cute puppy and too young) and loved seeing them blush. It was amusing. Kissing wasn't that bad either but it was kind of strange… and wet.

Then there was the thing that after he kissed the cute Ravenclaw she thought that they were dating and the Potter heir was now with a girlfriend. A girlfriend he found rather boring. Sure Lisa was good looking (only a blind man would say otherwise) but there were few things she liked to talk about, mainly books and her classes. The strawberry blond reminded him too much of Hermione, bar brown bushy-hair, brown eyes (Lisa had pale green) and long front teeth, and he did not want to date one of his best friends. (In short, she was a prretier version of his friend). The Ravenclaw girl was also quite shy and didn't let him kiss her often. In fact, for the past eight days they had been "dating" after the first kiss, it had happened only once and it was too quick to be called a kiss, more like a brush of the lips.

The worst of the whole 'dating thing' was that Lisa seemed to believe that they were meant to be together and always had a dreamy expression around him (when they weren't talking about anything school related, that is). The teen didn't know what to do and had no one to ask. Hermione just told him to 'Stop playing with the poor girl's feelings and be gentle as possible while breaking up,' while Ron shrugged his shoulders and said that 'If he had a girlfriend like him he wouldn't ditch her for anything in the word'. The other boys weren't more helpful either, their answers were similar to Ron's. The raven went as far as to ask for an advice from his teammates but he shouldn't have bothered. The girls nearly repeated the muggleborn witch's answer and refused to speak to him for the rest of the practice, Oliver said something with a Quidditch metaphor Harry didn't quite understand and made Alicia blush and slap him ("Oliver!") and the twins had the nerve to laugh at him. His friends in Durmstrang (the male ones, he wouldn't dare ask the females, _thank you very much) _were even less helpful. Overall, Harry swore that after he managed to break up with Lisa he would never date.

On the other hand, his Prank (not The Prank or the Prank but merely capitalized Prank) was coming fine. The next Monday morning (20th of September) everybody would be up for a big surprise and he doubt anyone would suspect him. His Hogwarts-Harry-Potter-is-back prank was one of the most complicated ones he had ever pulled alone. Researching the spell took some time but, thankfully, he had done this in Durmstrang with Georg and already knew the theory. The best part of this whole ordeal was that most people would immediately suspect the Weasley twins and even if they didn't, he had a foolproof back-up plan. The only thing he needed to do was to look just as shocked as everybody else was and not outright laugh when he sees Snape's hair. He had charmed all knifes at the Great Hall, and when someone sat, their hair would turn into their least favorite color and start discussing, in a loud voice, how the person treated their hair. Of course, someone might not use a knife, so the person won't be affected. It was going to be grand!

The mystery of Professor Lupin was another thing that bothered him. After a couple of weeks he finally gave up and went to the library (*shudder*) to see old school year-books. It was an early Sunday morning so most students weren't awake yet, those who were wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't have to answer uncomfortable questions. That's all Harry wanted at the moment (except finding Professor Lupin's 'secret' identity).

He started from the 50s and after twenty-one year-books (and nearly two hours) he found a Remus J. Lupin as a Gryffindor first year. Even then, he looked older than he was, his amber eyes held pain in them but there was also a carefree spirit that was lacking in the older Lupin. What surprised Harry the most was the rest of the class. It was a small year, notably smaller than the previous ones - about fifty students only. Harry knew that his class was smaller but it was because of the time they were born. It was during the worst part of the war and many witches and wizard felt that it was too dangerous and irresponsible to bring children in a world where most didn't know whether they would see the next day. That said, why would class '71 be so small?

The raven didn't ponder too much about this when he saw the other Gryffindor boys. There was his father; he knew it before he saw the name under the picture. James Potter had the same untamed black hair, round rimmed glasses (thank Merlin _he_ got rid of his) and face structure. There were differences through. James had had hazel eyes, he looked more relax and had a confidence Harry lacked at that age. Of course, the scar was missing too. He was an epitome of a child from happy wealthy family who loved him. Harry traced his name with his forefinger, 'James C. Potter'. How he wished he had known the man. How he wanted his father back.

The next picture was of a plump boy with mousy brown hair ('Like Scabbers',' Harry thought with amusement), small watery eyes and seemed shorter and fatter than his father and younger-Lupin. 'Peter G. Pettigrew' was his name. The teen was sure he had heard it before but couldn't remember. Maybe it was like Professor Lupin. Apparently, he and his father had been friends and he subconsciously had remembered him. Anyway, he could research that later.

Harry averted his green eyes to the next picture. It was a boy with pale skin, black silky hair that went to the middle of his neck and grey eyes sparkling with mischief. The teen smiled a little, this boy and his father had been best friends. He was sure. The boy held his head high and looked like an aristocrat. He was from a very old and wealthy pureblood family, the heir probably. The teen looked at the nametag and paled. That was impossible! He did a double take but the name didn't change, a misprint, then. Harry took the following yearbook to check… then the next one and the next one. It wasn't a mistake. Sirius Black had been a Gryffindor. The _Sirius Black_ and his father had been friends. With Professor Lupin and, and… _Peter Pettigrew. _This man had killed his own roommate and twelve Muggles in a cold blood.

Malfoy's words from last week emerged in his head. _"If I were you I would be searching for him right now." "You really don't know" "I would take my revenge."_ He hadn't paid him much attention then, thinking it was probably nothing but now… What had Black done? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Harry shook his head. He should leave the matter rest, at least for now. He had better things to do. Moreover, if he was desperate, he could always ask Malfoy. The praise would be too big but if he really wanted to know, he would pay it.

It was Hermione's birthday today and he was planning of throwing a small party for her. Only their year in the boys' dormitory. He had ordered butterbeers from the Three Broomsticks and a cake with a 'Happy 14th Birthday, Hermione' from Honeydukes. All third-years knew about the surprise party and even some of the other Gryffindors. Hermione was blissfully unaware, through and would be surprised. Harry couldn't wait to see her face. Also, he had spoken to his classmates and they had all agreed to pretend that they had forgotten about her birthday.

"Where were you, Harry?" Neville, one of the few Gryffindors he found awake in the common room asked him. "It early and you looked like you had been awake for several hours," this was true. It was eleven minutes past nine and no one woke up before nine on Sundays.

The raven shrugged and sat on the couch next to Neville. The round-faced boy had a Herbology book with him and Harry guessed he had been reading before he entered. The young celebrity looked at his friend's slightly concerned face and suddenly realized how much he resembled his mother. Alice Longbottom nee Piers had had the same features and kind brown eyes. Unlike him, however, she had brown hair not blond and looked more cheerful. But then again, hadn't Neville mentioned that he lived with his grandmother? Something must have happened to his parents and they were unable to take care of him.

"You look like your mother," Harry blurred before he could stop himself. The other boy visibly tensed at these words, his face cleared of all emotions. Sensing he had said the wrong thing, Harry hurriedly elaborated. "I was at the library, looking at some old yearbooks and saw her picture. She was at the same year as my parents, you know?"

"Really? I didn't know that," Neville answered. His posture was more relax now and his face looked genially interested. There was something, however, in his eyes, that showed Harry he didn't want to talk about his parents. The raven knew that look very well, since he himself had it. No matter how much he wanted to know more about Lily and James Potter, he felt sad every time someone spoke of them. He never really knew why he felt the way he did. He didn't remember them, yet he was, in a way, steel grieving.

"Yes, strange, huh? Anyway, what did you get for 'Mione?" he asked, changing the topic. Neville shot him a grateful look at that.

"A book," he chuckled, "like most of us, about rare magical animals and plants. You?"

"A diary and an Augerey quill," he answered and at the last, the chubby boy's eyes winded.

"An _Augerey_ quill!" he exclaimed unbelievingly. "How did you get your hands on one of those?" Neville asked with an uncharacteristic force. Not that Harry could blame him. it was an_ Augerey _quill after all. "My grandma has one and she says they are really rare and expensive."

"A friend from Durmstrang has an uncle, or was it a cousin, who sells things like that. He even agreed to give me a discharge if I promise to buy my quills, parchment and rare books from him. The diary was from him too, if you are wondering. It wasn't that expensive, trough, a little under sixty galleons or so."

"It's decided," the other boy said after he managed to get over the shock. "You are so coming to my birthday party."

"Not so loud. She might come," a voice behind them, said before Harry could open his moth. Both boys turned to see who it was. There stood Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finneganin their half-asleep glory. Ron was covering a yawn with his left head and nodding to what Dean had said. The said boy had a worried look in his eyes, which were steel red from sleeping. Seamus was the only one who looked remotely awake. If you didn't look at his hair. It looked like he had just lifted his face from the pillow.

"Not hers," Neville said rolling his eyes. "Mine. Harry gives the best presents, so he is obligated to come," he explained catching the others' attention.

"Best presents," Ron repeated. "What d'ya mean?"

"He got Hermione an Augerey quill," the youngest one answered. The reaction was immediate. Ron gapped at him (he was in the middle of another yawn) and Seamus exclaimed (loudly) 'No bloody way!' and got the attention of everybody present at the common room (around ten other students) who looked at him strangely. The Irish boy didn't appear to care, trough, so shocked he was. Dean, on the other hand, was confused.

"What's so important of an Augerey quill?" he asked bewildered. Neville answered seeing as two of the others were too shocked to say anything and the third was far too amused by their antics to be bothered.

"It's a very rare type of quill, the best on the market, through. Augerey is a magical bird, like a cousin of the Phoenix actually, but has an affinity to water. It usually has silver and green feathers and a quill made by them last at least ten times more than a normal one and use less ink. They are very beautiful, too.

Because of their quality and rareness, they are very expensive. Like a hundred galleons or so," by the end of the explanation Dean was also gapping like the other two. Harry huffed at that.

"First, Augerey quills are not _that_ special and I did not pay a hundred galleons. As I told Neville, I had a discharge. Now, do you want to go to breakfast or you rather stay as a bunch of idiots here?" The boys nodded and followed Harry to the Great Hall.

Nothing interesting happened during the entire day. Well, not really. Hermione was a little sad (depressed) because she thought that nobody bothered to remember her birthday. Because of that, she decided to avoid the other Gryffindors and went to the library to study.

The girl spent nearly the entire day studying of her various classes. Her timetable was more than full and only a couple of weeks into the term she was falling behind. She had a Potion essay due for tomorrow, a translation of a text for Friday and five equations for Arithmancy. In addition, she wanted to read ahead for Transfiguration and Charms and check a few of the dark creatures mentioned in the Defense book. Then there was her promise to Hagrid. She was going to help him win the case and rub it in Malfoy's face and that was it.

About one thirty (nearly four hours later) Harry came in the library and sat next to her. The birthday girl barley acknowledged him with a nod, scrubbing with her quill over the parchment. She had almost finished with her translation.

The raven stayed quiet for a couple of minutes and seeing that she was busy dropped something in her lap with a quiet "Make sure Pince doesn't see you," and left.

Hermione was surprised to find an apple, a sandwich with tomato and cheese and bottle of water. The girl was touched by the nice gesture and smiled gratefully. She quickly hid the food in her bag after taking a few bites from the sandwich. Merlin was she hungry!

Two hours later, after finishing with all school-related work she ate the rest of the food. While eating in the library was, without question, wrong, the ten couldn't find in her to care. She had had the worst week possible, she was tired, and no one had bothered to remember her birthday. While yes, a present would be nice, the witch would have been happy from a single 'Happy Birthday' but no, no one, even Harry and Ron, said a thing. It was so unfair.

Then there was Harry bloody (yes, she will curse if she wants to) Potter. He was one of her best friends but he was so different now. It wasn't a bad different, rather the opposite, but some things just confused her. Like the whole Lisa Turpin deal. He didn't like her, that much was clear after he asked her how to break up with the girl, but why was he steel with her then. He was playing with the girl's feelings and didn't even care! Then there were his stories about past pranks. Pranking meant breaking rules and breaking the rules was bad but Harry didn't seem to be concern about it. According to him, that was the fun part – making sure you aren't caught.

These things were easy to ignore, however, what confused her more was her behavior as a whole. Even when he did normal stuff like playing chess with Ron his posture, his face and even his voice radiated something she couldn't quite identified. He acted like, like Malfoy, in a way. With better table manners than before, straighten pose and confident expression. What confused her about this (because she was happy her friend looked better) was what had caused the change in him: from a painfully shy kid to a confident teenager and only for a year. How did that happen…

"Eating in the library is forbidden, you know?" a cheerful voice got her out of her thoughts. Hermione jumped a little and turned to see who was behind her. It was a boy in her year from Ravenclaw but she couldn't remember his name. He had dark blond hair, almost brown, and grey eyes. He was smiling and looking at her with curiosity. "May I inquire why you are here, in Sunday, no less?"

"I was doing my homework in advance," she answered truthfully. The witch felt her face heating under his intense look and quickly dropped what was left of her apple in her backpack. Not very hygienically thing but it was safer if Madam Pince decided to come.

"You are that girl, right, Harry Potter's friend?" the teen wizard asked unexpectingly. Hermione didn't have the chance to nod or look insulted because he continued with a pleading look. "Could you help me with something?"

"I guess," the girl said hesitantly. His face brightened but she quickly continued. "It depends on what you need my help for," at that his face feel a little. What was he going to ask her?

"It's not bad," a _but_ was coming "but you may not like it," the witch raised her eyebrow waiting for more. The teen looked hesitant. He took a deep breath and said very quickly, "Could you make Potter ditch Lisa?

"What?"

"Could you make Potter ditch Lisa?" he repeated, this time slowly. "She is my friend and he's only playing with her," after that he quickly lowered his eyes to the floor. The Gryffindor girl opened her mouth to respond that Harry's relationships were none of hers (and his) busyness and she wouldn't make him break up with his girlfriend (he was going to do it soon, anyway) and ask him what made him think he had the right to ask such thing from her. She didn't say anything, because the boy murmured a quick "I'm sorry, forget about it," and quickly left.

Hermione shook her head in bewilderment and went to the section about old lawsuits to find something for Hagrid.

It was about eight o'clock and the Gryffindor common room was full with students chatting and laughing. Or, in other words, the common room was _noisy_ and noisy wasn't something one Hermione Jane Granger liked when she was reading a very interesting book about Arithmancy. Actually, she was trying so hard to ignore the buzz around her that she didn't notice two figures sneaking behind her until it was too late.

The bushy-haired girl was in the middle of an explanation of the Third principle in Arithmancy when she felt someone grabbing her from behind. She tried to scream but her capturer had placed his (it was too tough to be '_hers'_) hand over her mouth and he a piece of cloth was tied around her head so she couldn't see. The girl struggled, trying to escape but she couldn't. The chatting around her stopped for a moment but resumed quickly. As if her kidnapping wasn't important!

"Come on," she heard a familiar voice talking. "Don't be a spoil sport, just follow our instructions and everything will be fine. Now stand up." Seamus said cheerfully. With a sigh, Hermione obeyed him and let the Irish boy lead her… wherever he was leading her.

"We are here," another voice said. It was female and, also familiar. Either Parvati or Lavender, Hermione thought. Thankfully, since they were there (she still didn't know where exactly this 'there' was, probably one of the dormitories if the stares were any indication) the bandage was taken off but the sudden light blinded her for a moment. As she blinked a few times a group shout startled her.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HERMIONE!" she looked around and saw all other third-year Gryffindors (even Fay and Lily and rarely spoke to them, the two girls liked to keep things between themselves) were here. There was a banner with a "Happy 14th Birthday Hermione!" over the window. It was Gryffindor red with golden letters and a couple of lions (probably drawn by Dean) were walking back and forth the cloth. She idly wondered who had animated the animals because it was a pretty good piece of magic. The lion was currently was ruffling his mane and the lioness was yawning, showing all her sharp teeth. Amazing, really. Under the banner was a table with sweets, pretzels, bottles with something she couldn't recognize and a cake.

"I, I don't know… I… what," she stuttered not being able to form a sentence, feeling the edges of her eyes getting moistly. Harry saved her from further embarrassment when he hugged her and said quietly in her ear.

"Why don't you see her presents, birthday girl?" the girl could only nod and accept Parvati and Lavender's present ('Ours first, ours first!'). It was a new hairbrush, hairpins, hairspray and everything connected to hair. Fay and Lily had gotten her an expensive looking perfume and a red silk scarf. The boys weren't that original, however. Ron, Neville and Seamus had picked up some books for her. Luckily, she hadn't read any of them before so it wasn't a bad gift. Dean's present was a sketchbook and crayons, for Care of Magical Creatures when Hagrid make them draw the animals, he explained.

Harry's gift was the best. It was a beautiful diary and an Augerey quill. She had read about them of course. The birds were rare and a quill made from one of its feathers was expensive. She didn't want to think about the money he had sent on her present and, according to everyone in present, he was the initiator of her surprise birthday party. The boy in question just shrugged it off and said that he would do everything for his friends.

After Hermione opened all her presents (she had never had so many) they ate from the food (the cake was delicious), drank all the butterbeer (the most marvelous thing she had ever tasted) and played all sorts of games. From 'Spin the Wand' (like the Muggle 'Spin the Bottle' (seeing Ron and Seamus' faces when they had to kiss were hilarious), to 'Truth and Dare' (apparently Fay was absolutely terrified of worms since she had almost eaten one with her spaghetti and Harry had to dance on his boxers and sing the magical version of 'I'm sexy and I know it'). Through the course of the night, several others joined the celebration including the Weasley twins, the rest of the Quidditch team and Lee Jordan.

Half past midnight, however, they had to stop the celebration because they had classes tomorrow, or later at the morning if one had to stick to the details. Well, most of them, as Harry reminded them happily. Overall, Hermione went to sleep sure that she had never had a better birthday.

Outside the castle, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a black skinny dog seemed to be looking at the Gryffindor tower with sad look at its face. It stayed at the same place until all lights went off.

**.**

**Last Revised: 29.03.2014**


	6. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own Harry Potter and if you don't know the meaning of the word fiction I to recommend you to check in a dictionary because I am not saying this again. _

_**After the chapter please read the note on the bottom. It explains more about the Magical world and some other things. **_

Chapter Five

Of Plans and Revelations

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"_**How are you feeling, mate?"**_

"_**As if I had been tried to fight a stone wall."**_

"_**And lost?"**_

"_**Obviously. Otherwise I woudn't be here. What happened, anyway?"**_

"_**Well, Harry, you… ah… fell from your broom, it's fine, unlike your bones…"**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_ My Dearest Calypso,_

_ I thank you for invitation. I spoke with the Headmaster and he agreed to let me leave the school for the Samhain celebrations. He wasn't very happy with that, through. I believe he is worried about Sirius Black (according to my friend's father, Black is after me for revenge against Voldemort or something of that sort) but, as I already mentioned, he let me go. There was something about international relationships but Iam araid I was not listening with much attention at that time. Anyway, the fact is that I am coming which means that I'll give you your present when we see. I hope you like it. _

_ As for your question, I am fine and I am doing my class work regularly, you needent worry. I had a girlfriend, Lisa Trupin, or at leat everyone thought we were dating. We "broke up" a couple of weeks ago. Is it normal for girls to cry all the time after they had been dumped? (Even if they hadnt been in a relationship.) Then to try to hex the person who broke up with them? Please, do not take any offence, but I find girls rather strage at some occasions. I imagine you are smirking at yourself right now._

_On a different note, the first Quidditch match for the season is in three weeks and Oliver is working us like crazy. Apparently, the Seeker last year couldn't catch the snitch even once and Gryffindor had ended up in third place. Which might as well have been last with Hufflepuff behind us. The worst part had been, however, that Slytherin won. We practice three times a week plus Sunday mornings and the situation is getting out of control but Oliver is so set on winning the Cup that if we complain he will just make us train twice as hard to get 'this ridiculous idea out of our minds'. I fear for his sanity and my own health. _

_ How are you all? I look forward to seeing you. _

_ Sincerely,_

_ Harry J. Potter_

_ Heir to the Most Honerable and Antient House of Potter._

Harry looked at the short letter wondering what he had forgotten and if the nagging feeling at the back of his mind was any indication it was rather important. The tips of his black bangs fall in his eyes and he had to brush them aside. He needed a haircut. The teen chewed the tip of his quill, searching through his memory and trying to remember what he had forgotten, all the while completely unaware of his surroundings. That was his first mistake.

"Hey Harry, who's the prettiest girl in our year?" the second mistake he made that night was answering Seamus' question in front of all Gryffindors in the common room.

"Daphne Greengrass," mistake number three was giving a name of a Slytherin girl almost immediately after the question.

"Could you repeat what you just said?" his final mistake was doing what he was asked and not realizing it came from a girl.

Needles to say the young hero didn't have the chance to finish his letter to Calypso because all third-year girls were out for his blood. The teen swore that he would make Seamus pay. Suddenly the Irish boy felt an urge to run and hide in the deepest hole he could find. He quickly dismissed the feeling and resumed his previous activity, namely bragging about his successful pranking one Harry Potter.

"The first Hogsmeade weekend is on Halloween. How cool is that?" Ron announced one Saturday morning. He and Harry were going to fetch something from the kitchens (Harry had bribed the twins to tell them where they were) because the younger boy refused to step a feet in the Great Hall. The reason? Lisa was out for his blood. After the "break up" a couple of weeks ago and she had spent the majority of the time crying but the girl had miraculously recovered and had tried to hex him yesterday after the Ancient Runes class. His survival instincts told him to stay clan from her for the next few days until she calmed down. Were all women that emotional or was it just her? He should have been nicer when he broke up with her but _hexing_ him _two weeks_ after he had dumped her. And they hadnt been dating! Girls were weird.

Then there were the Gryffindor third-year girls. After Seamus' prank (and he _was_ going to make him _pay_ for it dearly) the previous night he wasn't exactly their (the girls) most favorite person in the world.

"Halloween," he repeated, the word tasted strange in his mouth now. "You sure about that?"

"Mhum, can't wait to see it. It's gonna be great," Harry let his friend chatter for a while before he threw the metaphorical bomb at him, excuse the Muggle expression.

"To bad I'm not coming then," the taller boy stopped in the middle of his rant and froze at a spot. "Come on Ron," he nudged him to move "you can rest in the kitchens, you know," he joked. That got the boy out of his stupor.

"What do you mean you're not coming?" the question was met by the elegant shrug Harry seemed to have obtained the previous year.

"What I said. I'm not coming," the Gryffindor, answered rather unhelpfully. Before Ron had the chance to ask for more, however, they arrived to their destination and his friend opened the secret door to the kitchens and led him in. The House Elves immediately rounded them up, eager to please the two students.

"What would young Sirs want?" a female Elf asked or rather squeaked. Like the others, she had big bat-like ears and eyes with the size and the color of a tennis balls. She wore comparatively nice clothes for an Elf with the Hogwarts' crest.

"Just tea and some toasts with jam, please," The youngest Weasley boy shook his head in dismay. Harry's choice of breakfast was disgusting.

"Beacon, eggs, sausages and tea," was a better choice. This was a healthy delicious proper British breakfast. He mentally nodded at himself. Tipsy bowed and went to get their orders. Now, speaking of Harry and his _choices_… "Why aren't you coming to Hogsmeade?" he did not just sound like a Hermione. No, nope, nhu-uh. He was just worried about his best mate who must have lost his mind somewhere.

"Thanks Tipsy," the small elf beamed with pride and joy of being acknowledged by the 'Young Master Patter'. "I won't be in the country," Ron stuck his fork in his eggs and waited for Harry to elaborate.

The boy, however, merely took a sip from his tea and a bite from one of the toast n front of him. After a couple of minutes of complete silence during which Ron didn't take his eyes off Harry (even to look at his food), the paler boy spoke again. "I'm going to Calypso's house for Samhain. I'll return for Monday classes and Ron, _close your mouth_," the shock of hearing his friend saying that he would be missing Hogsmeade weekend for a holiday (granted it was a big holiday, one of the most important ones for wizards) was too big. He blushed crimson when he realized that Harry had a clear view of the half-chewed food in his mouth and quickly swallowed the rest of the beacon.

Samhain for the pure-bloods and some half-bloods, Hallows' Eve for majority of the half-bloods or simply Halloween for the muggle-borns was a very old holiday. In fact, it had been celebrated long before the Muggles even thought of Halloween. The night between October and November held some sort of special magic that wizards recognized even centuries ago. It was believed that that night symbolized the transition between summer and winter, between day and night, between light and dark. The celebrations started at sunset at 31st October and lasted about twenty-four hours. Everybody gathered around big fire and danced until midnight when a wizard or a witch threw a log in it. This piece of wood had been taken from the Beltane fire exactly six months previous and symbolized the end of summer just like another log another witch or wizard would take from the Samhain fire and half a year later throw in the Beltane fire would mean the end of winter. The day-part of 1st November was a big festival. The fire would still be burning and people would dance around it but there would be many stands with food and drinks and games to play. While the first part of Samhain was about sending the summer, the light and the warmth away, the second one was a greeting of the winter, the darkness and the cold. Everything was a never-ending circle and there would be no light without darkness and no life without death. This was what Samhain was.

While in theory everything sounded nice, there was a reason why most muggle-borns did not celebrate it. Large part of Samhain was about death and animal sacrifices were a main part of the festival. On midnight, several different animals would be ritually killed and thrown in the fire. The muggle-borns, not used to killing animals, found this custom 'barbaric' and 'wrong'. Some puked, other fainted and in the end (around 1850s), Hogwarts stopped the annual celebrations. The pure-bloods had continued this traditions and many British wizards and witches still followed the Old ways but there were just as many (if not more) wizards and witches who hadn't even heard about them.

No matter how much Harry wanted to disagree deep down he knew that Hermione was from the last group. She was smart (one would be an ignorant idiot not to see _that_) but she was also a muggleborn who believed in logic and would probably start a campaign about the rights of house elves or centaurs, or only Merlin knows what. His studious friend would go on and on about how wrong killing defenseless animals was and how stupid was to follow some old traditions.

Ron, on the other hand, was a pure-blood from a well-known light family. By all means, he should know all about the Old ways but the Weasleys were an exception of the rule. The redheaded family was known for its diversion from the traditions. Harry knew for a fact that Ron's family celebrated the Muggle Christmas not Yule and from the comments he had heard, they did not follow the traditions for Samhain either. In other words, they were just like a little better educated on the wizarding culture muggleborns, so, in retrospect, Harry shouldn't have been so surprised by his friend's reaction…

"WHAT?" The scream took him by surprise and he nearly dropped the cup of tea in his hand. "Since when do you celebrate… _this_?" Ron finished lamely, not knowing how to define the holiday. The other boy took another sip from his tea before putting the cup on the table. He turned his attention to his friend and took a deep breath before answering.

"Because I chose to follow the Old ways Ron, I hope you don't have a problem with that. I've already spoken with the Headmaster and he agreed to let me go. Anyway, we should be going back. The kitchens aren't exactly allowed, so if someone catches us…" Harry trailed off at the sight of his friend's face. Thanking Merlin and Morgana for Ron's short attention span, he let him drag him out of the not-so-forbidden kitchen.

Hermione woke up late… well later than usual. It was nearly nine o'clock and the sun was shining brightly even through the curtains. The teen entertained the idea of going back to sleep but quickly dismissed it; she had so much to do. The new classes were all so interesting (besides Divination, the teacher was a fraud) and she wanted to finish her homework so she could read ahead in Arithmancy. Arithmancy was her favorite subject. The girl couldn't say way exactly, though. Perhaps it was the similarity between Muggle Algebra (and shouldn't wizards have this class, too) and Arithmancy. Both dealt with numbers and calculations and were straightforward. There wasn't any guessing or some other pointless things that were used in most classes, like magical power and affinity and stuff like that.

Hermione had read a little bit (a lot) about _magical power and affinities_ in her first year. She had quickly disregarded them. According to the books she had found in the library (_"Families and Their Affinities", "Our Magical Power and How to Use It" _and_ "Why is the Magical Affinity so Important?"_) it all depended on bloodlines, which was ridiculous of course. Apparently, every family (as in old and pureblood one) had an aptitude to a certain branch of magic in which they excelled, sometimes even in more than one. On the contrary, Muggleborns, like her, did not have an affinity toward anything and they could never be Masters of anything but would have less trouble in learning the basics of any magic. They were, in the most literal sense of the word, neutral. This was all rubbish in her (esteemed) opinion and she had vowed to be the best in everything, so she could show those prejudiced bastards that they were wrong.

That was the main reason behind her decision to sign up for every class available. Hermione had been so happy and so proud when McGonagall had called her in her office in the beginning of the year and had entrusted her a time-turner with the condition to never tell anyone about it. The girl had promised quickly and had given an Unspeakable Vow (not that she would ever break her word, but…) and only the Headmaster could release her from it.

Now, less than two months after that, she had come to regret her decision. On the one hand, she wanted to tell Harry and Ron about the time-turner before they figured it out by themselves. It was getting more and more difficult to hide from Harry during the Arithmancy lesson they shared. She sat alone on the last desk in the right row, rarely lifted her head from her book (usually Arithmancy for Beginners"), and never answered any questions in class (and God did she want to). Thankfully, she always arrived before Harry (or anyone else) and was able to 'disappear'. It also helped that Harry was always with Seamus, Dunbar and Moon. They all sat on the second desks and rarely looked at the back. In fact, the only person who actually noticed her was the boy from the library, Anthony Goldstein. He was, however, still too embarrassed to speak to her since his request on her birthday. Did he believe that she had asked Harry to dump his girlfriend for him?

At least in Ancient Runes she didn't have to hide like that. Come to think of it, she needed the time-turner only once a week.

Anyway, the thing was, she wanted to tell Harry and Ron how she could be in two places (or three in Thursdays) at the same time but couldn't. Every time she started to say it, no words would come from her mouth. It was depressing and she was tired. All extra classes were starting to get to her. Hermione had nearly fallen asleep doing homework twice already and if that wasn't a proof that she was exhausted she didn't know what was. Perhaps having slept till nine was another good one.

At ten one could find Hermione in the common room doing homework. Most Gryffindors tended to avoid her when she was engaged in school-related activities, since everybody who had been on the receiving end of her ire if they dared interrupt her had warned his or hers friends against making the same mistake. The fourteen-year-old girl was a true lioness in such cases. Only if she could direct this passion to something else, the Weasley twins were leaving school in three years (or even sooner, nobody who knew them believed that they would finish their education) and Gryffindor was going to need new Beaters. Pity that Hermione was terrible on broom, if she could hit a bludger with the same strength and accuracy she used to throw things (inkwells, pencils, notebooks, bottles of water and the occasional (_very_ thick) book, if she is too distracted) she would be an unstoppable force on the pitch. As it was, however, that was just wishful thinking because it was no secret that the only reason Granger went to the matches was Harry Potter. Speaking of him…

"… is crazy! I mean really crazy, totally bonkers! He wants us to practice on Tuesdays, too. No one would agree, of course. Fred, George and Angelina have O.W.E.s this year and Katy told me that the teachers had gone homework crazy. Alicia, on the other hand, has N.E.W.T.s classes and is even more stressed. Only Oliver doesn't seem affected and he's the one who has the most homework. That guy's crazy! Oh, hey Hermione," Harry and Ron had returned to the common room from wherever they had been (not the breakfast at least, because Hermione had seen Lisa Trupin looking around and asking for Harry, to try to hex him no doubt). Their conversation apparently was about (surprise, surprise) Quidditch. The bushy-haired girl couldn't understand what was so interesting about the game; it was dangerous and pointless, how could so many like it was beyond her.

"Is that for Sinistra?" the raven boy asked as he peered over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Before Hermione could answer, however, the other third of the so-called Golden Trio took the word.

"Blamey, Hermione, we have like five days to finish it, why do it now?" Ron Bilius Weasley was a very brave person, those who were present decided, a very foolish one but brave nonetheless.

"Because, Ronald, not everyone leaves their homework for the last possible minute!" her chocolate eyes were flashing dangerously and her left hand was itching too close to a medium sized globe of the Moon for anyone's comfort.

"Well, it's still too early. Harry, tell her!", the boy-savior was placed in the middle of yet another Granger-Weasley Argument (with a capital 'A', just 'argument' didn't convey the right message). He massaged his temples for a moment, trying very hard not to sigh.

By then, the Golden Trion had become the centre of attention and only Harry was aware of that. How could his two friends not realize that the whole room was deadly quiet? Anyway, he had to say something.

"Actually," he began and discretely looked around to make sure the Twins weren't here, he wasn't in the mood for their antics, "I already did it," Ron's mouth hang open and Hermione looked at him expecting this to be another prank of his (which he was glad it wasn't because it would be like the lames prank in the world).

"Stop joking, mate, really what do you think?" the red-haired asked with a nervous laugh. Harry _was_ only joking, right.

"No, seriously," the other boy said with a shrug, "I did it already, with most of my homework. I have only the translation left and half of that essay for the greasy bastard ("Harry!") oh and to practice the wand movement for Charms."

"When did you do everything else?" Hermione asked. It was clear that she didn't believe him. Ron, on the other hand, had gone as pale as a sheet (which made his freckles even more prominent). He had forgotten about Snape!

"Wednesday, mostly, and yesterday after lunch, while you had Divination. Thought I could leave Runes for next Wednesday, though, thirty inches about the Fink's Laws of Transfiguration ate up most of my time. I was stuck at twenty-six inches for half an hour. This thing was unwritingable."

"'Unwritingable' is not a word, Harry," Hermione reprimanded him absentmindedly, still shocked of this revelation. She had yet to begin it. The girl had opted to start with something easy, like the essay about all celestial objects near Earth from Professor Sinistra, and Harry here had finished it. Moreover, apparently he had understood most of the material, while she had some difficulties with it. A voice in the back of her head reminded her that according to _"Families and Their Affinities"_ the Potters were famous for their understanding in Transfiguration, and not just specific field like human transfiguration, but in the whole subject. She quickly silenced it, jealousy was a pity thing and Hermione Jane Granger was not a pity person.

"Anyway, I think I'll finish the essay for Snape now, Oliver has booked the Quidditch pitch for the whole Sunday and I won't have time then," he added at her quizzing look.

"First you start celebrating Samhain and now you write your homework in advance… do I need to get Madam Pomphrey for you, mate?" Ron was looking at him worriedly. Harry, while shaking his head as a 'no' and heading to the boys' dormitory, was mentally patting himself on the back - crisis averted.

"Samhain?" Hermione asked the other boy. "Harry's celebrating this holiday?"

"Yes," the sixth Weasley nodded. "He just told me. Apparently Dumbledore had allowed him to leave the country for that!" he added angrily. "He'll miss Hogsmeade weekend for this!"

"Leave the country?" What was Harry thinking? What if Black caught him? And for what – to celebrate some barbaric holiday where innocent animals were being killed. What had Durmstrang done to him? "Where is he going?"

"Umm," _that_ was good question. "To that girl, umm, Calypso's house, I think," Greece, Harry was going to _Greece_ to watch some poor things being slain and burned for no reason.

"We have to stop him," she declared and tried to stand up but an arm on her shoulder stopped her. "What!" she snapped at Ron "You don't expect me to stand aside and let Harry do something like that!" the boy only shook his head sadly and looked her in the eyes.

"You can and you will, Hermione," he was serious, for once, and her voice was forceful. This was the first time the girl saw her friend like that. Honestly, it scared her a little.

"Why?" she asked stubbornly.

"Because Harry had chosen to follow the Old Ways, if we try to forcefully change his decision the Magic wouldn't be happy with us," seeing her skeptical look he hurried to explain. "My family doesn't follow them but Mum and Dad explained them to us. The Old Ways celebrate the Magic in its purest form and Her followers are Hers alone. One can always change his or hers believes but if someone else tries to influence them… the Magic will know. That's way they told us about the Old Ways, so we can choose if we want to follow them or not. If Harry wants to celebrate Samhain and if Dumbledore has agreed to let him go to wherever he is going…"

"Greece, he is going to Greece."

"Err, yeah, to Greece, than we can only let him be," Ron didn't seem to like the situation anymore than she did but if he was speaking the truth (and as much as she hated to admit it, he probably did) she had no choice but to follow his example and do nothing.

"Does anyone of your family chose to well, you know what?"

"Fred and George," that surprised her. The Twins didn't look like people who would bow to some pagan Goddess of magic and kill innocent animals. "And Bill. Mum wasn't too happy but it's not like she could do anything. She still hopes that they'll see the light and turn back," he chuckled at that. Hermione didn't. She swore in front of herself that no child of her would know about this barbaric thing. She would make sure that if they did find out they wouldn't want to follow them.

Neither realized that Harry had been standing a little behind them and had heard the whole conversation. The boy had returned to ask Ron if he wanted something from there and had unintentionally overheard everything. He had also seen the expression on Hermione's face and didn't like it. The revulsion written so clearly there shocked him. He had always thought her for an open-minded person but she had proven him wrong. At least Ron understood, he didn't like his choice but he understood and would support him. Hermione on the other hand, Harry hoped she had listened to Ron's advice and warning and wouldn't try anything. The Magic was somewhat possessive of Her followers and would hurt those who tried to forcefully take them away. It worked the other way around too; She didn't want one of Hers to take someone's choice away in Her name. Harry couldn't say he understood Her but he was still Her follower.

Ever since Dimitri had first told him of the Old Ways, he had wanted to learn more about them. He had been fascinated with them and would always remember the feeling of raw magic in the air on his first Samhain. It was indescribable - Dark and Light in the same time, powerful and intoxicating. Harry was wizard and wanted to show that. He wanted everybody to see that he wasn't like the Muggles who had raised him, that he was different – a child of Magic.

He didn't understand Hermione. Why was she acting like that? She ought to know enough about the Old Ways to be able to see the beauty in them. Didn't her pulse become faster when she read about it? Didn't her magic call to Her? He had felt it every year during Samhain and Beltane, even when he lived with the Dursley he felt something. Didn't she? What was so different between them?

They were both raised by Muggles with similar believes. The Dursley had their phobia of appearing unnatural, so they were Christians and went every Sunday to the Church. He didn't know about Uncle Vernon but he was positive that Dudley didn't care much for any kind of religion and that Aunt Petunia was an almost fanatic Christian. Once, he had been about five or six, after another burst of accidental magic (he didn't even remember what he had done) Aunt Petunia had taken him to the nearest church (St. Augustus) and led him to a painting of Jesus Christ. She told him to knell in front of it and to look at it closely. Harry was forced to spend nearly two hours knelling in front of the crucified Jesus Christ and prey for His forgiveness because his kind was the reason He had had to suffer so much.

Hermione's parents, on the other hand, were atheists. Why he, who had been raised as a Christian and had attended all Sundays' liturgies for ten years, was more accepting of the Old Ways confused him. Hermione was the one who had been thought to be accepting and yet she was acting like a muggleborn. Like a prejudiced muggleborn, who cling to her Muggle upbringing and refused to understand the ways of Magic and he didn't like it. Doing so, his friend was proving to be exactly what Malfoy thought she was, a Muggle with magic and not a witch. He hoped Hermione would understand one day because if she didn't, her future wasn't looking to be very bright.

_Also, the idea pureblood and muggleborns having different magic is __**not**__ my own. I read it somewhere but since I can't remember the title of the fic or the name of the author I cannot ask for permission to borrow it. Still, it is __**not mine**__ and I don't have the right to say it is._

_About the Old Ways: this is, basically, a type of pagan religion from before Christianity. There isn't a God or Goddess like Hermione thinks and the closest thing wizards and witches think as a one is the so-called Magic. This is a semi-sentient force, which has bestowed upon them part of Her powers. The Magic is everywhere: in the air, in the earth, in the water. She used to be called Praecantation but through the centuries Her name changed to Magicae and then to Magic._

_Samhain and Beltane are the times when the Veil between the world of the living the world of the dead is thinnest and Magic uses more of Her powers to prevent it from being torn. During the celebrations, the raw magic is stronger and most wizards and witches are able to feel it, even if they are away from any parties. Harry, who is born to a pureblood father (who comes from a long line of wizards) and a muggleborn mother that has chosen to follow the Old Ways, has already been subjected to Samhain and Beltane celebrations once, is capable of feeling the raw magic. Most children raised in the magical world (regardless of their parents' believes) are able to feel it. Hermione, on the other hand, is a muggleborn and didn't even know that magic existed until she received her letter (unlike her, Harry, at some subconscious level, never stopped believing in it). Moreover, even if she feels something, she is the kind of person who would dismiss the idea as ridiculous. _

_The blood of the animals that are killed is a way of showing gratitude to Magic for keeping the world's balance (if the Veil is torn the world would be lost in chaos). _

_The log that is taken from the fire is always from an oak tree (symbol of strength and endurance) at midnight. During the celebration, the log absorbs as much as raw magic and energy as it can and that magic is given back to the Magic as it burns at the next festival (be it Samhain or Beltane), after another one is taken first. The family that is chosen to take it is considered lucky and honored. _

_Also, about Lily, according to Rowling she had been friends with Snape before she went to Hogwarts. I believe that his mother (a pureblood witch) would have thought him about the Old Ways and he would teach Lily. _

_I hope it didn't look like I'm bashing Hermione because I don't think I do. She doesn't understand much about this magical new world and tries to learn via books. From the first book we know that she had trouble with finding friends in the first couple of months, so, logically, Hermione being Hermione must have spent a lot of time in the library trying to understand the Magical world. However, when she read that she would never be better then some of her classmates her pride was wounded. Doubtlessly, she had been on the top of her class in her previous school and had expected the same here. When some book told her, she had no chance of being the best she automatically decided that the book is wrong and if this book is wrong then other are wrong too. The Old Ways, being manly practiced by purebloods and with her skepticism toward them made her skeptical of the wizarding religion, too. Also, let's not forget that while her parents aren't Christians, Britain is a Christian country and she must have been influenced by Christianity at least a little. An animal sacrifice, for her, is something from centuries ago and she cannot accept it easily._

_Harry, on the other hand, while raised as a Christian, hates the Dursley. He wants to be different from them, so when he hears about a wizarding religion (where he is not a spawn of the Devil) he is all for it._

**.**

**Last Revised: 29.03.2014**


	7. Chapter 6

_The translation of the sentences will be at the bottom of the chapter and I've used Google Translator for them, so I apologize for the lack of proper grammar. Also, for those who do not know Greece is in GMT +2.00._

Chapter Six

Samhain: Part One

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"_**I will miss you, Harry, when you leave. Promise me you will write."**_

"_**I promise Vi. You won't get rid of me that easily."**_

"_**Every week?"**_

"_**Every week."**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

The week before the Samhain celebrations was not one that Harry would recall with any particular fondness. Actually, he would rather not remember it at all. While Ron did make sure to stay away from any mentioning of the Old Ways, he seemed to have taken the news quite well. It was Hermione who made the past week so bad. She would send him those creepy judge-y looks and not even pretend to accept anything. It was so annoying. Couldn't she understand that behavior like this was the real reason Malfoy was insulting her all the time and many purebloods and half-bloods looked down on her?

Anyway, Saturday finally came (it had felt like forever) and Harry was going to see his friends. He left as right after breakfast doing his best to avoid Hermione. The previous night she had done her best to convince him against going without angering Her. If he hadn't been the poor soul subjected to her lecturing, Harry would have been impressed with her. However, as it was, he was only pissed. Therefore, he had been relieved when he had said goodbye to his roommates and woken up at 6 A.M. By 7.30 he was at the International Portkey Agency.

The IPA was one of the oldest organizations in the wizarding world. It dated back from the early seventeenth century (about three years after the first international portkey was made) and while the job was dull, the higher-ups had a lot of pull everywhere. Anyway, as an old and renowned institution, IPA had one of the most beautiful buildings in Diagon Alley, second only to Gringots. It was a three store old house, with white marble and golden ornaments outside. Inside it was rather cozy but still somewhat intimidating. According to the signs, the first floor had only the reception and a cafeteria. The second was where the portkeys 'landed' and left from and on the third were the offices.

Harry went to the counter over which the words "South Europe" were hovering. A grumpy witch was standing behind it, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Her hair was half-grey and was pulled up in a thigh bun; the lines on her face were not from laughing, that was obvious. Her robes, in the standard (for the agency) brownish red color, did not have a single crinkle and she stood so straight that Harry felt his back hurt.

"How can I help you?" she asked unenthusiastically.

"I have a portkey for Thessaloniki at 7.45…"

"Name?" the lady interrupted him with the same flat voice.

"Potter, Harry Potter," at this her eyes widened a little and she looked a somewhat intrigued. For his relief, she did not comment or started asking questions or anything; the older woman only gave him a piece of parchment with the number 27 on it and bid him a good day. Harry did feel her eyes on his back but that was normal. At least she hadn't made a scene or something to alert everyone that the Harry Potter was in IPA. She would, doubtlessly, tell all her friends and enemies, and acquaintances, and probably random strangers. Well, he was exaggerating, probably.

Anyway, the woman did deserve his gratitude for the room was already half full. Wizards and witches of all ages and nationalities were walking around. Harry was sure that there were even some magical creatures (that man was way too pale and he thought he saw a sharp fang). Harry had to stifle a laugh at the thought of Kalina's face were he to mentioned that. Kalina was his first love, or at least, the first girl he had ever fancied (and kissed). She was only a week older than he was. Her chocolate eyes and brown curls, completed with pale complexion and slender frame made her, according to him, one of the most beautiful girls. Her laugh sounded like the song of the bells and he was still a little in love with her. She was quite shy, though and they had gotten to know each other only during the second term when Victor had introduced them. It had turned out that the older Bulgarian was her first cousin and had tried to play mach-maker, not that he failed or anything. What they had had, however, while nice and all was nothing serious, both had agreed about that. They were young, too young if one were to ask some more conservative people and live too far away for anything to happen. Pity that, Kalina Petrova was nothing if not a catch, despite her shy nature.

Deep in thoughts, the Potter heir was blind to his surroundings. Had he been aware, the classic beauty of the inner décor would have struck the teen. Every single detail was polished to a perfection, from the golden hardware of the doorknobs (and wasn't that a waste of money) to the long heavy curtains (Merlin knows from which expensive material) that did not have a speckle of dust. Everything was arranged with taste and there was not a single thing not on its place. The floor was from white marble, charmed not to be slippery. The handrail was wooden with golden and silver ornaments all over it. Despite not being too obvious about it, the entire building was made with opulence in mind.

The second floor was decorated in soft green colors with leafs as a main part. Instead of gold there was mostly silver. All in all, it was as grand as the partner. Harry, even after the last year in Durmstrang with all the purebloods and wealth, still cringed at such unnecessary display of money. It was not surprising that many of the people around him looked overwhelmed, he felt small too.

The parchment turned out to be the portkey's number to which he was assigned. Harry was a little surprised that he was the only one using it - there were so many people. Anyway, it wasn't that important, so he shrugged the thought of. There were more pressing matters to be conserved with, namely the 'wonderful' sensation of traveling via international portkey. Perhaps it would have been better to use the International Floo Lines but he got dizzy after a couple of seconds, let alone a travel from Britain to Greece. Besides, it would be a terrible embarrassment to stumble and trip on his robes in front of Konstantinos Megara. He had met the eighteen-year-old brother of Calypso only briefly but one would do well not to make a full of themselves in front of an heir of an old pureblood and (most important) influential family.

Harry did regret his decision to use the IPA's portkeys soon enough, though, about ten seconds after the aureate quill activated, to be precise. Everything around him was a spinning faster and faster and the colors had all merged. His only consolation was that when he falls on his knees and pucks his breakfast (and probably dinner and lunch from the day before), there would be no witnesses.

The Potter heir did not in fact start vomiting all over the chamber where the portkey took him but he did lost balance and fell on the hard marble floor. After his head stop spinning (and it took more than a couple of minutes) he finally left the small room and headed downstairs. The two buildings of IPA were almost identical but with different decoration. While the British obviously preferred forest motives and green, gold and the darker shades of red, the Greeks seemed to favor beaches and seas as main theme and cyan and sandy colors. It was no less grand and elaborate but still incredibly beautiful.

Konstantinos was waiting for him in the cafeteria looking regally bored. Like his sister, he had dark eyes and hair but his skin was much paler than hers was. This was due to more time spent inside because of his studies and because of his mother's blood. Ingrid Megara was originally from Norway. The story of Ingrid and Christos' love was very well known. It was a true fairytale. The two had met in Durmstrang and had fallen in love at first sight. Despite living in two countries, separated by an entire continent, their love had flowered and the two had wed a week after Ingrid's nineteenth birthday. According to the rumors they had had the perfect marriage until Lady Megara had fallen ill and only a fortnight later she had passed away. Christos Megara had never looked at another woman again, not even once for the past seven years. An entire generation of young witches had gone to sleep with tears in their eyes.

Harry, on the other hand, had little interest in the private matters of other families but it was impossible not to learn all the gossip and scandals of the purebloods when one attends a school with them. Even though the tragic story of Ingrid and Christos was the first thing to come to the minds of many when they were about to meet any member of the Megara family, it was not the same with Harry. He was more preoccupied with making the best possible impression, rather than over thinking old gossip.

"Heir Megara," he greeted with a small nod when he was close enough the older boy. "How do you do?"

"Kληρονόμος Potter," he answered with a nod in Greek, as was accepted. He offered his hand and Harry took it with a smile for a few seconds. "Tι κάνεισ?" after the formal part was over, the older teen led Harry out of the building. "My sister is very excited about your arrival," he said with a barely noticeable accent. "She considers you a very close friend," Harry wasn't sure where this conversation was going and didn't really want to.

"I do to," he said honestly, successfully keeping his voice steady. The two were outside the building and the younger boy was barely able to stop himself from gaping like a fool. This was not an easy thing to do, since the Thessaloniki's equivalent of Diagon Alley was nothing like it. The first thing Harry noticed was the faint smell of sea and the screams of the seagulls. The robes worn by the wizards and witches had more color than the British ones and the cut was somewhat different, though the young wizard could not say exactly where they differed. It was also warmer, if only by a bit, but still.

"I hope there won't be anything else between you," the slight Greek accent was more visible in Konstantinos' voice and even a deaf man could hear the threat it. There was nothing Harry could say that wouldn't get him in trouble, so he settled for nodding and trying not to look scared, the Megara heir could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be.

"Good, now after we got over this, shall we apparate to the manor?" asked the Greek and offered his hand. The younger had no choice but to take it. This was his first experience with this particular method of magical transportation and Harry could safely say he would live happily without ever going through such experience again. It felt as if he was sucked through a very tight and small rubber tube. Perhaps international portkeys were not so bad, after all. He felt ill after the few seconds it took them to apparate.

"First time?" asked Konstantinos amused. All Harry could do was nod weekly and try not vomit all over the place (for second time this past hour). "I can give you a few minutes to compose yourself, Heir Potter, but it's almost ten and my sister is expecting as. I believe there will be a light breakfast prepared for us"

Harry took as little time as possible and while his breath was still coming in short gasps he straightened his shoulders and looked around. He stood in a region smattered with fruit-bearing vines. The sea was not too far away, as he could hear the sound of the waves. There was no sign that the land was inhabited but that was not surprising. The Megara family was renowned for the many Seers they had produced (at least one every generation or so) and for the very strong wards that sometimes could conceal an entire mansion.

"Come here," the Greek motioned for Harry to come closer and then pointed at some random spot. "Το αρχοντικό είναι εκεί," at first nothing changed but then the Brit saw it. They were in the middle of a large park, which had a quaint atmosphere. There were several sculptures, many trees (the olive ones were predominant) and a gazebo nearby. The statues were in a typical Greek fashion and everything looked amazing.

After a few minutes' walk he saw the house as well. It had the same quaint feeling like the park. Grand was the best word to describe it. The manor was not high, only two stores but it spread away for what seemed to Harry miles.

Calypso was waiting for them at the entrance. Her hair was styled in her usual elaborate braid and she wore sun-colored robes with orange ornaments. Her pose was composed and she stood patiently waiting for them to come. She would not leave her position (in front of the gates), nor would she show any sign that she had seen them.

"Brother, Heir Potter," Calypso greeted them with a deep curtsy when the two were in front of her. On her face was the mask of the perfect pureblood daughter.

"My dear sister," Konstantinos smiled warmly and kissed her forehead, neglecting the proper protocol like so many did these days. Harry had no choice, however, but to follow the rules and bowed just as deeply as Calypso.

"Lady Megara," he offered to take her hand and kiss it and the girl let him.

"Now, after the formalities are over, why don't we just enjoy the breakfast without the boring etiquette, hm?" the girl said with a big smile. "Oh, and Harry, leave your bag here, the elves will take care of it," she said absentmindedly waving her hand at the floor. Harry had to stifle a fond smile. Purebloods, how would they survive without the House-elves? But then again, he himself was quite fond of the small creatures that did all the work. Hermione would disapprove, but he won't think of her right now, that would only ruin his mood. He hurried after the siblings, trying to catch up.

"Is anyone else here, yet?" he asked curiously.

"Not until tomorrow evening," the girl replayed. "You know how is in Durmstrang. And what happens if you don't have homework."

He did indeed. The professors in the foreign schools were much stricter and were not above corporeal punishment.

"And we do need to catch up," he added with a smile, "about certain things," Harry continued with a vague gesture.

"But of course," Calypso laughted. "Can't forget about _that._"

"About what?" the oldest of the small group asked, not liking being left out of the loop.

"Nothing that concerns _you_ Kostas," his sister waved him of. "School things, you know," she said which brought another wave of laughter for the two thirteen-year-olds.

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.

"How is life in Hogwarts, young Potter?" Christos Megara asked Harry. It was dinnertime and the four were in a relatively large dining room and already at the second course. The food was delicious, about as much as the one in Hogwarts.

Lord Megara was a large man but no one would make the mistake of thinking him in terms of fat. He shared the same dark hair and eyes with his children and the brownish skin color Calypso had. He smiled a lot but with such sad and melancholic smile that Harry couldn't help but remember the story about him and his Ingrid. The man was also very friendly and kind. His eyes sometimes looked a little unfocused but as a part-Seer that was a given. One day, Calypso had explained to Harry that her father couldn't predict anything really but almost all the time had 'feelings' and would See flickers of things that are not there. Regardless, his gift was limited and the best he had done was to predicting the future was saying how someone would look like in a few years but even that was not certain.

"The same as Durmstrang actually. There are differences but more or less everything is the same," Harry answered after he had swollen the bite he had been eating.

"Even with all ακάθαρτος there?" the man exclaimed. Harry kept his face still, knowing very well for whom was the Greek word about, especially after the worried look Calypso threw at him.

"One of my best friends is of Muggle blood, sir," he said calmly and took another bite of the delicious pork meal. "So was my mother," Harry continued and refusing to betray his emotions.

"And there is nothing wrong about that," the lord sounded honest. "But many of them do not understand our culture. Does your friend follow the Old Ways or even know about them? And the late Lady Potter?" at least he had a good argument.

"My mother had done so ever since she had been introduced to our world," and she had. Georg had managed to persuade Harry to write to some of his parents' old friends. It had taken some time to find any but the two had used s book about genealogy and had managed to track down some purebloods that had went to school with James and Lily Potter. According to Emmeline Vance (who had attended Hogwarts at the same time and was in the same House with Lily), his mother had been practicing from before she had received her letter. "Hermione is…" well, nothing that would put her in a good light with Lord Megara. "Not a practicioner but that is because her tight connection to the Church," a lie, "not because she thinks badly of the Old Ways," another lie. By the look of Christos' eyes he knew that to. "There are many families that are Christians, not just muggleborns but some half-bloods, as well, with a pureblood parent," Harry tried to spin the conversation away from the witch. Hermione was not something he wanted to discuss with a bunch of purebloods or with anyone really, right now.

"A Muggle influence, no doubt," the elder said. He took a sip from his elf-made wine and look at Harry with calculating eyes. Perhaps he should have not changed the topic, after all, or even started it. "What is your opinion of Muggle?" that was one of the most difficult and most important questions a pureblood could ask someone. It was better not to lie but in this case, Harry had no intention to. The truth would be enough.

"They are different than us," he said and prevented the urge to lick his lips, which suddenly had become very dry. Instead, he took a sip from his goblet. It was filled with some sort of fruit juice but the boy had no idea which one. "They don't have magic, so they can't understand it. Can't understand Her, either. Half of the things we see, they can't," like Dementors, Bogarts, and ghosts and so on. "I can't say I particularly like them, but I don't hate them, either. I would be content if I have no contact with the Muggle world at all," here, that should be good enough. He took another sip from the goblet. Perhaps it was a mixture. The smell was too rich to be from one fruit alone. And the flavor too.

"Well said," his host complimented him. From the corner of his eye he saw Calypso's shoulders relaxing a little and her brother looked like he had went to a show expecting it to be much more than it had been. Harry wasn't sure he liked the tall Greek. The older teen couth his eye and raised his goblet a little mockingly. No, Harry definitely did not like Heir Konstantinos Megara.

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Harry Potter woke up in a large warm and very, very comfortable bed. It took him awhile to remember where he was but the unmistakable feeling of magic in the air quickly reminded him. He liked it, the sensation of raw magic, uncalled by any wizard. It felt exited and full of energy.

The clock on the wall in front of him told him it was about half past eight. Not that late for a Sunday but on Samhain he had never managed to sleep past seven. It didn't matter really, he was still a little sleepy and the magic was somewhat distracting, so Harry decided not to lose time pondering over a problem that wasn't really one.

He left the bad, immediately regretting his decision and missing the warmth and softness of the mattress and went to take a shower. The guest suit that he was given was nice and comfortable. The décor reminded him a little of the muggle teashop that his aunt loved to go when he had been younger. The boy knew better than to tell anyone that, trough.

Anyway, he had a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom. Everything was in soft pastel colors from brown and yellow to green and blue. It was more than nice and the bed was better than the one he had in Hogwarts.

The bathroom was large and made of white marble and granite. The floor looked a little like a chessboard, actually. There was a bathtub and a shower, a sink and a toilet, all on a much higher level than the ones in the schools. There were no windows, though and the entire room was lit by magic.

Harry went to bathtub and turned the hot water on. He added something of a tube which label said that it was for bubbles and when the water was next to the edge of the tub, he stripped his red pajamas off and went in. The teen didn't really care about the water that poured out of the tub. The warmth of it and the smell of something he couldn't identify overwhelmed him.

About an hour later, the last Potter was finally over with bathing and brushing his teeth and so on. He took his time with stylizing his hair after he dressed up. Instead of robes, he chose the popular for teens sleeveless tunic, under which he had a white shirt and ordinary pants. The clothes were wade of the highest quality materials and were quite expansive. The tunic was in forest green with brown ornaments near the edges of the cloth. The belt he had and the pants were in the same shade of brown. Overall, he looked well in these outfit (if he did say so himself) and the leather boots just finished the picture.

Ten minutes to nine, a house-elf came to tell Harry that breakfast would be served at nine o'clock and could Binky help young Mistress' guest with anything.

"Just show me the way," the boy answered absentmindedly, his entire attention focused on his reflection. For the past few minutes he had been trying to decide how did he looked better, the fringe on the left or on the right.

"Either way's great, honey," the mirror said only with a slight Greek accent. Finally, Harry liked a way his hair looked like and let stay that way.

"Lead the way," he told the small creature and followed it out of the guest room.

The breakfast was served in the parlor and when he arrived, a couple of minutes to nine, only Calypso was there.

"Good morning, fair lady," he said with a solemn expression bowed deeply, almost to the ground. "How do I found thee on this most beautiful autumn morn?" Harry asked with a charming smile and took the chair left of his friend.

"A fine morning, indeed, most noble sir," the brunet answered with a smile and curtsied him. "I feel perfectly fine, Heir Potter. But, tell me, how are you?" her voice sounded urgent and she grasped his hand for the briefest moment before turning away and blushing, or pretending to, anyway. "Were the rooms to your liking, milord?"

"I have never slept on a softer bed," he answered solemnly. The two stayed quiet for a few moments before they burst into laughter. "Your laugh sounds like silver bells, fair lady, please do not stop," Harry said after the teens had managed to compose themselves.

"Always the charmer, Potter, but I shan't fall for your tricks," Calypso lifted her chin and turned her head slightly away from him, as to show her point. "I know what you are, you and your kind, heirs and lords who toy with maidens' hearts. Have you got no shame?"

After several moments of pretending to think, Harry grinned at his friend and shook his head for negative.

"You are incorrigible," the girl said with a smile.

"And I'm proud of it. Say, when are the others coming?"

"Others, or Lady Kalina Petrova?" the Grecian girl asked with a sly grin. "Vanessa said you had a girlfriend. One that was devastated after you dumped her, if I may be as bold as to add. And now, less than a month later, you are out for another one," Harry rolled his eyes, but before he could answer Lord and Heir Megara entered the parlor. The Potter heir stood up from his seat and bowed to the lord of the house, as was proper. Christos only nodded at him before taking his place, while Konstantinos bowed too. Calypso, as daughter and sister to the newcomers was allowed to stay on her place.

After the proper pleasantries were exchanged, the four had a rather quiet breakfast and the main topic of conversation (the only topic) was the Samhain celebration. The guests would be arriving at four thirty and the celebrations would begin at twenty minutes past five. The preparation would of course start much earlier.

Harry couldn't wait to see his Durmstrang friends. Well, some of them, since the Megara House had sent invitations only to pureblood families from the Balkans. He was looking forward to seeing Kalina again but it was not just her. The twins, Vanessa and Georg wouldn't come which was a pity but at least he would get to see so many others.

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Calypso retired to her rooms around three and since Harry did have it in him to be overly polite and have long discussions with her male relatives he soon followed her example. He entertained himself with reading some book, which title and contents were forgotten almost immediately.

When four came Harry took a quick shower and changed into his dress robes. They were white with runes written in golden. Most of the other guests, if not all, would wear similar variations. The only true difference would be in the family crests. As an official gathering, all parties were required to wear the symbol of each House. The Potter coat of arms was embodied on Harry's left shoulder. It consisted of red and black shield carried by a lion and a wolf and the family motto over the picture "_familia__primus__, amici __secundus__et mundus__postero_"

As usual, he looked dashing, even if he did say so himself. The mirror agreed, too. Anyway, at about 4.25 he headed down to the large sitting room arranged for the guests. Like anything else in the manor, the room was decorated in a style from a couple of centuries ago and was simply amazing. The couches were soft and comfortable and the entire wall on his left was made of glass and Harry enjoyed the view to the sea, while sipping of his tea and waiting for the others to arrive.

The room, while it did have a huge fireplace, was connected to another (smaller) chamber to where the other guests would floo.

Soon enough, wizards and witches started to arrive. Almost all of them were from the Balkan Peninsula and the majority spoke on some Slavic language, others used Greek and third - another language he couldn't recognize, which left him the lone Brit, not being able to understand a thing. He was more or less fluent in Russian, of course, but that only helped him to catch a word here and there, definitely not enough. Seeing, as he knew no one of the people gathered, there was no one to introduce him to anyone, and as protocol dictated, he could not start a conversation with someone he did not know.

Harry settled for drinking his tea and pretending not to brood.

"Not having fun, Heir Potter?" a gruff voice from behind startled him. the boy turned around to see who was there. After that, he immediately placed his cup on the table and stood to bow respectfully.

"Master Krum," he greeted the rising Quidditch star with a smile. It had been while since he last saw the youngest Krum child. "How do you do?"

"Наследник Potter," Victor said in Bulgarian. He wore similar white robes but the symbols were not Celtic runes, like Harry's, but rather words from an alphabet called Glagolitic (the twins had showed him one the previous year). "Добър ден," Victor sat next to Harry but took a cup of coffee, instead of tea, no sugar and little milk.

"How it the life of a Quidditch star?" the younger teen asked curiously. The Bulgarian had been chosen as a Seeker by the Bulgarian National team sometime during September and Harry was dying to know more about it.

"It has its perks," the other said with a half smile (of course), it was an old joke that the third Krum child never laughed or smiled fully, but refused to elaborate.

"Do tell."

"But, my friend, why would you want to know such things, lest you want to join the English, hm?" was said with a raised eyebrow. Harry tried not to show his frustration and to grip his cup tighter. "Now, I believe, you haven't been introduced to anyone yet," it was not a question but the younger male still shocked his head for a negative. "Then, let me remedy that, young friend," the two stood up and the Potter heir let his older companion drag him around and introduced him to every person in the (rather large) room.

All the fake smiles and handshakes, and bows were starting to get to Harry but, thankfully, Lord Megara came to announce that the sun was going to set in a couple of minutes and everyone moved to the ballroom. It was bigger than the Great Hall in Hogwarts and much more beautiful. The main colors were white and golden and thousands of candles lit the hall. At the middle of the room was a large balefire and all windows were charmed to show the sun.

At the exact moment it disappear from view, the woods started burning and Christos went in front of the blazing flames and said in his strong rich voice that carried to every corner of the room.

"Έχω ανακοινώσει την έναρξη της γιορτής για το τέλος του καλοκαιριού," everybody started clapping and Harry followed their example.

"He announced the beginning of the celebrations," Victor whispered in his year. The younger turned and saw the Bulgarian grinning. "You should do well to find a dance partner, young friend. And to do it fast," he patted him on the shoulder and went toward a gathering of young witches. Harry had little choice but to follow his advice. While the dances did not start until ten o'clock it was better to have a chosen partner for the first dance a few hours before that.

Almost next to him, he saw a blond girl around his age. She was looking around excitedly, her blue eyes sparkling. Victor had introduced her as Natasha Slivovitz, second daughter to some Serbian lord whose first name Harry hadn't bothered to remember. She was pretty little thing and looked amazing with her dress robes. Harry could only hope she was not someone else's date.

He went to her, and bowed gracefully. The teen made sure to uncover his scar for a second and let the girl see it.

"May I have the first dance, my lady?" he shot her a winning smile and waited for an answer.

"You may, Heir Potter," her voice was soft and melodic but a tad too quiet. Perhaps the girl was shy.

"Do call me Harry, lady Slivovitz," he said with another flirting smile. "When I hear Potter I think of school," Harry grimaced a little, "not a very nice topic."

"Then you may use my given name as well, Heir Po… Harry," Natasha had a nice smile, the boy noticed. Now, how did she sound when she laughed?

Harry didn't have the opportunity to see, however, since the girl's father called her and it was unlikely for them to talk more before the dances. Knowing that, the boy decided to mingle a little with people and look for his friends.

He didn't go far. Not even ten minutes later, a man in his mid-twenties stop him. He was, if Harry wasn't mistaken, from Bulgaria and a heir to the Ivanov Family. His hair was brown (light, not dark) and his eyes were a few shades darker than his owns. Boyan, or something, soon engaged him in a conversation about different types of brooms and Quidditch and seemed too interested in Harry. It became clear, when he introduced him to his younger sister Maria. Unlike her brother, she had much darker hair and hazel eyes and was about his age. Harry was unable to leave without having to invite Maria to the second dance. He didn't mind that much, though, the girl was nice to look at and they had had a pleasant ten-minutes conversation.

After he managed to leave their company (and the company of several other Bulgarians that had joined them), Harry had less than five minutes alone before he was cornered by a group of Greek teens around his age. This was when he realized that he would not be able to stay by himself and look for his friends. They'd have to find him.

The boys were nice, though, if a bit overly enthusiastic. They asked questions about Hogwarts and Durmstrang and explained about the Balkan Academy for Magic to him. The course in the northern school was very demanding and it was difficult for some to keep up. The castle was not very big either and while it had more students than Hogwarts there weren't enough places for all that wanted to go. Because of that, in the early seventeenth century the Academy had opened its doors somewhere in the mountains (not that he was told where exactly).

Several girls from the same school joined them when they were discussing the differences between Hogwarts and the Academy. While it was exhausting (with all fake smiles and hidden meanings behind the words), it was nice getting to know people from other countries.

"Harry," a female voice called him. The teen turned and saw Calypso with Kalina and several other students from Durmstrang. After promising to meet his new female acquaintances on the dance floor, Harry went to join his friends.

The formal greetings took nearly half an hour and by then it was time for dinner. There were many carefully arranged tables in a room next to ball hall. They were round and had place for six people. The meals were nothing extravagant and had no meat. Most of them were raw vegetables and fruits, some mushrooms and simple bakeries.

Harry was placed on the same table with Kalina, Victor, Victor's siblings – two older brothers and a sister. The eldest was twenty-three years old and looked like an older version of Harry's friend. Nikolai did smile a lot freely than his younger brother, though. The second Krum was Momchil. He was younger by a couple of years and had blond hair (the only one of the family with blond hair). His was much more open than his siblings' and Harry instantly liked him. Unlike the sister; shad the same dark eyes and hair like the eldest but if her nose could be higher in the air the Brit would applaud her. Nina Krum looked like a female Bulgarian version of Draco Malfoy.

The four siblings seemed to forget him and half of the time spoke in their birth language. Thankfully, Kalina was there as well and Harry did his best to keep her entertained. The two children spent the time catching up and telling each other funny stories from school.

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"_Her eyes look even bluer up-close_," Harry though as he danced with Natasha. The first dance was waltz, a very slow one. The music came as if from nowhere but somehow managed to sound in every single corner of the hall.

"You are a very good dancer, Heir Harry," Natasha said softly. Her voice was quiet and if they weren't standing so close, the teen wasn't sure he would be able to hear her.

"Thank you, fair lady, but I'm afraid my skills are nothing compared with yours. I feel like a troll next to a tree nymph," she looked amazing with her redden cheeks and eyes looking down shyly.

"Do not mock me," her voice sounded stern but she refused to meet his eyes.

Harry thrilled his dance partner and pulled her closer to him.

"I speak only the truth," he said seriously. The Serbian girl looked at him and seeing no lie, smiled.

"Then, thank you, for the compliment."

"There is no need to thank me for saying the truth," sadly, before they could speak more the music stopped and Harry had to find Maria for the second dance.

The next couple of hours passed in a similar way - the Potter heir never once leaving the dance floor and each dance with a different girl in his arms. Harry had to admit, regardless of how much he hated dancing, he was actually enjoying himself.

It was almost midnight. Finally, Harry though with a smile, it was time for the most important part of the Samhain celebrations.

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κληρονόμος potter, τι κάνεισ? –

heir potter, how do you do?

Το αρχοντικό είναι εκεί – the manor is over there

Ακάθαρτος –

impure

familia primus, amici secundus et mundus postero – family first,

friends second and the world next

наследник потър, добър ден –

heir potter, good afternoon

Έχω ανακοινώσει την έναρξη της γιορτής για το τέλος του καλοκαιριού -

I announce the beginning of the celebration about the summer's end

**.**

**Last Revised: 29.03.2014**


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Samhain: Part Two

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"_**I love you."**_

"_**No, you do not."**_

"_**But I do! I…"**_

"_**You fancy me. You think you love me but you don't."**_

"_**Do not presume to know my heart!"**_

"_**The mere fact that you are screaming at me proves my words."**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"…and please accept the sacrifice of my blood, oh Mother of all," he cut his palm and watched as the red liquid shone darkly in the moonlight.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drop after drop of his blood, slowly but steadily sliding off his hand, fell on the cold hard ground. Had he been standing he wouldn't have been able to distinguish the darker spots from the dirt.

"For we are all Your children and with my blood, with the blood of my forefathers that flows through me, I give You strength to protect us all," the cut was deeper and longer this time and if it wasn't for the raw magic, so thick in the air to dull the pain, he would have cried out.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It was flowing faster now and the drops were falling in the familiar pattern he had come to know from the past few years.

_Ursuz, Hagaliz, Naudhiz, Isa._

The Great Mother, the Magick, the Emotion and the Matter.

_Iwaz, Elhaz, Tiwaz and Berkano_

Life and Death, the Protection, the Male and the Female, always together, never apart.

_Laguz, Ingwaz, Othala, Dagaz_

And finally, the four elements: Water, Air, Earth and Fire.

They arranged themselves in circles of four - one within the other. It was beautiful in a strange morbid way. Like death, Sirius thought, it was sad and cold but if one was sick enough (and he certainly was) they would be able to see the beauty of it; the beauty of the white and black marbles and still figures, of glassy eyes and bluish skin.

He knew them by heart now. For years, for twelve long years he had to do the ritual alone. Unable to watch the log burning and almost hear Her. Unable to feel alive. Unable to feel anything at all.

Oh, how he missed the sensation of being eloped by others' magic: the warmth, the security, the love. Samhain and Beltane, and all other celebrations that used to make his blood boil, to wake him up from the slumber that he seemed to be in all other times.

Now Sirius was forced to do it alone, to cut himself, so he could make an offering to Her and have those few minutes of perfect clarity and happiness, uninterrupted by the Dementors or the simple (so very simple) dog thoughts.

No one ever visited, though. No one appeared in his dreams and it felt as if even the dead had abandoned him. And how that hurt! The pain and grieve were much stronger that those of the guards could ever make him feel. Sirius wanted to scream and cry but couldn't. He never could. He was a Black and that went against everything he had ever been taught.

Why did they hate him so? Why did no one ever come? He knew he hadn't been perfect but they hadn't been either. Why?

"Forgive me," he crooked out and didn't (couldn't) recognize his own voice. Once it had been deep and rich and now it was wheezy and dry, becoming more to an old and crippled man than to him. "Please, forgive me," there was something wet on his cheeks. His vision was blurry. Was it raining? No. The sky was clear and Sirius could see all constellations he had known since childhood. But they were blurry as well.

He lifted his left hand, the one that was uncut, and touched his face. It was all wet. The liquid tasted salty, he discovered after he brought his fingers to his mouth. What was happening to him? He couldn't be crying, could he?

"I'm sorry," his voice cracked like Regulus' had when he begged him to stay home. He would never forget the young tear-stained face. It haunted his dreams and begged him for help. Help that Sirius couldn't give from Azkaban. And Regulus died, over and over again and he just stood there, doing nothing. Always nothing.

"I didn't want this, brother," he was screaming and weeping at the same time (and, _oh_, if the others could see him now, the great Sirius Black, heir to the Black fortune placed before his father even reduced to this sniveling mess. How would they laugh at him). "Forgive me, please, little brother, I am so sorry," if he closed his eyes he could imagine a gentle hand on his shoulder but when he tried to touch it, there was none. "I should have helped you, I'm sorry. I'm so, so very sorry."

"James, don't hate me, please," because he knew, just knew, deep in his heart that James hated him. He hated him for not taking care of Harry, for suggesting the switch, which killed them, for not joining the Order and for so many more things. "Please, don't, please," he sounded pathetic but couldn't bring himself to care. There was no one around, no one to see him, no one to disturb him. He was all alone on Samhain night. Like always: alone, never close to another human being and eve the animals stayed clear of him.

_I can never hate you, mate._

Sirius can almost hear his best friend's voice, full of warmth and sadness; can almost feel the hot breath next to his ear. He turned but saw only the darkness and the trees of the Forbidden Forest. What else could he see there? He is alone on Samhain night.

_My son, my Sirius, my love._

Mother. Was that her? Was she truly there? With him? He couldn't feel her but the voice was there. She whispered to him as she used to do when he was a child, before Hogwarts, before everything, when she still loved him. When he was the perfect heir, when he was not a Gryffindor, when he was not a blood traitor. But he wasn't, he never betrayed the believes of his kin. He was and always will be a Black; with the Black madness creeping at the back of his mind.

_My pride, my joy, my firstborn._

Father. If he wasn't crying already he would have started now. Orion Black had been his hero from childhood and primary role model even after he grew up and turned his back on the family legacy and stopped practicing the Old Arts (he could always feel the brush of the magic, though, he never, could never forget his legacy, no matter how much he tried he was always a Back first). Hearing those words made his heart ache. He longed for better times; for his parents love, for little Reg's adoration. He wanted to go home.

Why? Why did She choose to let him hear and feel but not touch and see his family? Was this his punishment? Samhain wasn't supposed to work like that. The ghosts of the dead visited the living in their dreams.

Sirius always talked with them when he was younger, before Azkaban. Each Samhain one of him family would visit him and they would converse for hours or what felt like hours anyway. Everything always seemed so real, so true but there never was no doubt in his mind that it was a dream. He rarely remembered details, only smiles and warmth, and familial magic; blurred images of people he had seen in photos and pictures and portraits.

This, this was different. It was, at the same time, more and less real than before. Had he finally gone mad? Was that it? Has the curse in his blood finally awoken?

_ Don't cry nephew. Everything will be fine. There is no need for you to cry. Blacks don't cry. _

But he can't stop, not even when his uncle, his favorite uncle, whom he considered a second father, was telling him not to. The one person in his life he had always trusted implicitly and never questioned.

Perhaps they were truly here this year. Perhaps he was not alone. Perhaps for this one night he could feel loved again. And even if this was the madness he didn't care. Let it take his mind, destroy him, he was already a broken shell, a shadow of the person he used to be. Madness was not so bad after all.

He was unable to see them but the voices were there. Regulus' hand was on his left shoulder, James' on his right. Marlene's smell was in the air, the sweet aroma of fresh strawberries and rain he loved and could never get enough of; years ago, when things were good, they would lay for hours in the bed and he would breath in her scent. It smelt like home, like happy times, like love.

Maybe he was too far gone to distinguish reality from dreams or maybe She gave him one night of peace and rest.

Then they were gone. Just like they had appeared, they left: his mother and father, uncle Alphard and little Regulus, James and Marlene. Were they even here? Was it real or his imagination?

He wanted to cry and curse, and yell, but couldn't. Sirius was tired, so very tired of running and looking behind his back, of living in the Shack, of eating rats and whatever small animals he could catch and whatever he managed to steal from Hogsmeade. He wanted it to end and the only way for that to happen was if he captures the traitor, or gets captured himself. One way or another it would all end…

It was Samhain. Didn't there use to be a feast when he was a student? A feast no one ever missed?

He smiled for the first time since he saw that shore, only a couple of miles from Azkaban, but at that time, it had felt as if it was worlds away; there had been no cold, no darkness, no Dementors.

Tonight was the night, the night he would get that rat and clean his name. and if not, the Dementors would suck his soul and he would cease to feel this never-ending anguish.

Sirius could almost taste the freedom, the real freedom and unconsciously slipped in his Animagus form and run at the old castle.

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_ He was dreaming. Harry knew he was dreaming just as he knew his name was Harry James Potter, heir to the Most Honorable and Ancient House of Potter._

_ How was he so sure? Because of the room, the teen found himself in. _

_ It was relatively large with many bookcases filled with books. It was also circular, as if he was in a tower. Harry was unable to decide though, there were no windows and even if there were they were hidden behind the bookcases. _

_ The only free of books spot was where the fireplace was. There was a large burning fire, not unlike the one for Samhain. The flames were dancing and forming different symbols but he didn't know any of them. They did look familiar, though, eerie familiar._

_ And at the middle of the room, on a comfortably looking red armchair, sat a woman. She was in her early twenties and her long hair hid her face from view while she read. How could he guess her age, Harry was unable to tell._

_ He took a sharp breath, when a strange thought crossed his mind. Could it be? _

_ The sudden noise startled her and she turned to face him. _

_ Green. Her eyes were in such vivid green color that they took his breath away. But it was not only their beauty that regarded him speechless, no, it was their similarity to his own. The color was only a shade lighter and if one did not look for difference, they would be unable to find one._

_ She placed the book on the armchair and stood up. Her hair was shorter then Harry thought at first. It reached only her shoulders but it was curled, so perhaps it was a tad longer. The dark red color, so unlike the more brownish the Weasleys had, was what actually caught the teen's attention. _

_ "Mum," it sounded more like a sob than anything else. He doubted she understood the exact word, but Lily Potter only smiled and a second later, she was hugging him. His mother smelled like jasmine and roses and was so warm. Harry was crying and if the situation was different he would have denied it and brushed away the tears. But that was his __**mother**__. How could he not cry?_

_ "Sweetheart," her voice was nothing special but to his ears, it sounded like music._

_ "Mum," he said again. At some point, she had starts stroking his hair and it felt so nice. No one had ever done this to him, no one had ever held him with such care and love. _

_ "Sweetie," she led him to the armchair that was now a sofa and the two sat. It was every bit as comfortable as it looked. "Don't cry. Everything is alright."_

_ "No, it's not. You are dead, Dad is dead too and I never even knew you. It not alright. It's not!" and he sounds like a hysterical petulant child but he cannot help it. She is here now but only for a little while. _

_ "I know, love, I know," she kept stroking his hair and whispering nonsense in his ear until he calmed down. "Let me look at you," Lily said and pushed him away. She was smiling while she was memorizing his every feature. Like he did with her. _

_ "You've grown," she brushed away a tear. "I'm so proud of you. I wish my sister was a better person and had given you a real childhood," before the boy could protest she shook her head. "Don't deny it, you could've grown better. Sirius would have taken better care of you."_

_ "Sirius Black?" there was no way she was talking about that murderer, was it?_

_ "Who else" she laughed? "He is your godfather you know, or at least the magical equivalent for it," seeing the look on his face she elaborated. "James and Sirius, they acted like brothers, not like the distant cousins they were, some would say that James was more of a brother you Sirius that Regulus Black. They were like twins, always joined at the hip. It was rare to see them alone. Dates didn't count, of course," his mother said with a wink. "He, Sirius, was the best men on our wedding and we named him your godfather after you were born." _

_ Was it true? It probably was, why would the ghost of his mother lie to him. And it was possible that his father and Black were close, they were in the same year in Gryffindor after all. _

_ "So he was Light then?" Harry couldn't picture a man from a notoriously Dark family to forsake everything and switch sides. Black's own magic wouldn't have let him._

_ No," his mother said with a smile. "Sirius Black was everything but Light, though very few knew that. Everyone thought that since he wasn't a Death Eater he was Light," she shook her head and Harry noticed the small smile on his lips._

_ "Fools, the lot of them. Sirius was neutral in the war. He had too many friend and family members on both sides. And he was loyal, too loyal if you ask me," she sounded so sure of herself. And that man was his godfather! He was a killer, Voldemort's right hand man, he was… he was his father's cousin. They had grown up together. James Potter ought to have known about Black's true allegiance. How could he not have known? But, would he share his knowledge with his muggleborn wife? would he betray a fellow pureblood even to his spouse? _

_ There was more to the story, Harry was sure of it. perhaps he ought to talk with Professor Lupin at Hogwarts. He had been his father roommate after all. _

_ "Harry, Harry…"_

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"Harry, Harry wake up," a girl's voice shook him out of his sleep. Emerald eyes slowly opened and then closed quickly at the light. "Don't fall asleep again. It's almost eleven. You'll miss out the end."

"I thought the end was last night," the teen said with his still sleepy voice, refusing to open his eyes. His head hurt. He needed a headache drought or a hangover cure. What did he drank last night? Everything was so blurry...

And to research Sirius Black. He had to, he needed to know everything about that man. About his… godfather. The young Potter groaned. Why was his life such a mess?

And why did everything had to happen to him? First the Dark Lord decides to target his family, then he somehow survives the attack (as if by _magic_) only to be sent to leave with Muggles. He shivered at the mere thought of the Dursley. They were a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless.

He didn't hate them though. Hate was a very strong emotion that would require too much energy and thoughts on his part. He would much rather ignore his relatives (and didn't he hate to admit any relationship with them) altogether. He had about three, four months tops when he have to put up with their disgusting presence. Though, the chances of him spending over a month with them three summers in a roll were next to zero. Actually, they were way under zero.

"No, silly. The festival began about an hour ago. You'll miss the main part if you stay here." Calypso laughed and suddenly he felt colder, much colder… very, very wet. Oh, he was going to kill her, friend or no!

"CALYPSO!" his screams and her giggles were probably heard on the other side of the manor. Any other day that would have made him blush (well, almost-blush, the Potter Heirs did not blush) and hold his tongue. One did not yell, especially at a witch. It was uncouth and witches were to be protected not scorned, even if he (along with most wizards probably) could easily name many different females who hardly needed protection. Harry could think of several witches that would have his head on a platter only for thinking that they needed protection. Still, it was the norm and a Potter never lacked manners. Merlin, he shouldn't have read that journal, his life would have been way easier if he did not know what were the main rules that had governed his family for generations.

Be that as it may, he was cold, wet and had been rather rudely awaken, so most would forgive him. If not, he could always play the sad-little-orphan card and say that he had met with his mother in his sleep. And then everyone would look at him with pitying eyes and he would have to destroy several things to vent his frustration. He hated pity.

The girl quickly left the room and closed the door after her. Harry was left standing alone in the middle of a cold room with water dripping from him.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, the last Potter vowed to make the Megara pay for this in the most humiliating way possible.

Tossing back his fringe because the wet bangs were in his eyes, he went to the bathroom to have a proper hot shower and brush his teeth.

Now, from where to start with Black?

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Hermione Jane Granger was a girl on a mission. She was going to understand how Black had entered even if it took her months. The teachers had not been able to find him and neither did they know what kind of magic he had used to enter and leave unnoticed. There were many wild theories circulating, from him Appariting (which was ridiculous, hadn't they read anything about Hogwarts?) to Black being a plant Animagus (and God, did that sound idiotic).

With her bushy hair pulled up in a high ponytail and lips presses in a thin line, she was sitting in an out-of-the-way classroom on the fifth floor surrounded by piles of books. She kept sneezing because of the all the dust and would take the longest possible shower after she was done here but for the time being that dusty old and remote classroom was the best way to get some privacy.

Because of what had happened last night and early this morning, classes were canceled. Most students chose to enjoy this extra day of rest and swapping stories, which as the morning had progressed became more and more idiotic. That is way, after she finished her breakfast as soon as possible Hermione went to the library, checked out several books and hid in the old classroom.

Some of the old tomes around her were about wards but, unfortunately, they were, and did she hate admitting to that, too complex for Hermione to understand.

_Hogwarts. A History_ was there as well. It was her own copy, because after last year, she had asked her parents to get her a larger trunk and as hard as it was to move it, at least she had all her books.

Anyway, she was unable to understand even a quarter of the warding books, so they lay forgotten in a pile.

There were several dusty tomes on Scotland's history, mainly focusing on Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. However, they proved useless as well, since it was mostly facts about famous people and several farfetched theories. In _The Black Lake – the Truth Revealed_ the author wrote about several hidden passages, which supposedly existed beneath the lake and on its bottom, but the book concluded that it was impossible. (And no, she did not read the entire book, she only skimmed through it trying and failing to find something useful.)

_Pillars of Modern History_ focused mainly on the building of the castle. Hermione came across dozens legends and theories about secret passages but none of them was confirmed. In fact, the author was a firm believer that had there been any other way out of the school everybody would have known already. The books weren't overly large and she didn't read everything but Hermione felt that she got the gist of them.

_Magic – Shape, Mass and Strength_, all three volumes, explained how magic worked in details, very boring details that the girl couldn't read without falling asleep. Most of it was also irrelevant to her research, since it concentrated on more basic spells without going any further then second year. Perhaps, if she knew has Black had gotten in the castle, Hermione could guess what had his magic done. As it was, she had no idea, so those books were labeled as useless only after a couple of chapters and a quick skim ahead. By then (which had been about three hours later) she had started to regret the entire thing considering how difficult it was to get all of these books even with feather light and levitation charms.

The teen was currently reading _Samhain and Magic_ hoping to find a lead. The book was not very thick, about two hundred and forty pages, and easy to read. It wasn't written in some overly technical language and filled with references she didn't get. It was more of a fictional book, Hermione thought, but Madam Pence had assured her it was a scientific work. The girl wasn't convinced though.

_It is said that on Samhain night, the dead come to visit the living while they sleep. While this may seem unbelievable to many, it is the truth. There had been many documented cases about dead spouses, family members and friends appearing in dreams. It ought to be mentioned here that such visits could not be used as a testimony or evidence in court, because it is possible that it has been just a dream or someone had used magic or potion to influence one's thoughts._

_ That being said, dead visits (as they are commonly called) differ from one person to another. Some remember then with perfect clarity (very few), while others can recall only impressions. Everything depends on one's spirituality (the ability to contact the Other side, to see the future, to feel the magic). There is a popular theory that it depends on the number of festivals that one has celebrated and their believe in Her but that is of yet unproven._

_ Interesting thing about dead visits it that…_

The door opened with a loud groan, which caused Hermione to jump and turn around, almost dropping the now closed book in the process. The first thing she saw was dark blond hair and grey eyes. Antony Goldstein, her mind supplied not soon after. He was the strange boy that had asked her to make Harry break up with Lisa Trupin (not that she needed to, he did it on his own accord soon after her birthday) and then left before she could answer. She didn't recall him dating the girl though, not that she cared of course. (Even if he was irresistibly cute, her mind supplied.)

The Ravenclaw looked surprised to see her (or anyone else probably) here. He quickly came to his senses and shot her the smile. Not just a smile, but the one that made girls swoon after him and according to Lavender made him look 'so irresistibly handsome and cute, and handsome.' (And she had repeated her airheaded classmate's words, wasn't that embarrassing?)

"Hello Granger," he greeted and she just nodded in response. Goldstein looked at the books around her and raised his brows. "Obsessed much?"

"No!" she did not obsess about anything." "I'm just trying to figure out how Black got in the castle, that's all," like every other student. Of course, her methods were a tad better.

The boy, without asking for an invitation, sat on the desk next to hers and put his feet on her desk. His hair was messy, almost like Harry's but not quite, and the mandatory blue and bronze tie hung loose around his neck finishing the I-don't-really-care-how-I-look-like look that most of their male classmates seemed to prefer these days. Come to think of it, everything had started with Harry but he definitely pulled it off better than them. He had this carefree aura these days that she couldn't help but like. This new Harry was, in some ways, better than the old shy one. For one, he smiled more. (And it was well-known among the girls on Hogwarts that his smiles made him look even more handsome. Poor Ginny Weasley could hardly look at his direction without blushing brighter than her hair. If Harry ever spoke to her Hermione was sure the second-year would pass out.)

"So, what do you have?" he asked with feign disinterested. Hermione didn't role her eyes, as much as she wanted to, and settled for opening _Samhain and Magic_ and ignoring the other person in the room.

Said person had a different idea, however, and kept bombarding her with questions.

_… is that it happens only on Samhain, even though…_

"How does the magic on Samhain helps with your research?"

_ … the Vale is as thin on Beltane as well. It is believed that…_

"Did you really read all this books?"

_… since Samhain is a celebration about the beginning of the winter and death…_

"You actually understood the warding ones! My cousin is studying for mastery in wards and says it's really difficult."

_ … the Vale is more 'open' at the Other side, while for Beltane it is... _

"Do you need some help?"

_Snap_

Hermione closed the book (which mostly fiction in her opinion, though she knew she shouldn't just declare such things) with a loud snap and turned to glare at the intruder. He had that annoying smug look on his face that just riled her up.

"Could you please, shut up?" that came out sharper than she intended it to, but he didn't look bothered.

"I could, of course, but then you'd be bored to death with all these books."

"I'll have you now, I enjoy reading and this is for my research," he rose an eyebrow, which somehow made him look even cuter.

"So you don't enjoy reading this books, huh?"

"I never said that!" exclaimed the girl with a faint flush on her face.

"But you did," he had the insolence to smirk. "You said that you enjoy reading and then that those books are for research. You never said that you enjoy reading those particular books."

"I never said the opposite either and stop twisting my words," said Hermione angrily. "And why are you here either way?"

"If you insist, then I'll have to tell you," she did not insist on anything. That prat! "I was looking for you."

"Why?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"I never got the chance to thank you about Lisa, so thank you," God, he sounded sincere.

"There is no need to," she tried to explain but he interrupted her, probably taking it for modesty or something.

"There is. You see, I've had this crush on her for a while and…"

"There really isn't. Harry broke up with her on his own accord. Something about Trupin being too clingy or whatever," she hadn't cared all that much when he had explained to Ron why he had ditched his girlfriend. Their redheaded friend had thought him mental and had spent hours trying to prey out answers from Harry. She had been too busy with her Transfiguration essay to care.

"Lisa is not clingy!" Goldstein bowled at the insult of his not-girlfriend and like some knight in shining armor immediately came to her defense.

"Not my words," the girl shrugged and went back to her book. This conversation was pointless. "And Harry does not want to date her anymore, so you should be happy."

"She isn't happy!"

"And what do you want me to do?" the Ravenclaw was distracting her and she couldn't find the right page. Come to think of it, did she really need to read the rest of the book?

"Tell him to apologize and date her again," he just kept getting more and more stupid, didn't he? For the second time she snapped her book and turned her attention to him.

"First of all, I cannot tell Harry to do anything, so stop demanding it from me. Second, he wanted fun and some snogging," Hermione ignored the way her she blushed at that, "not the committed relationship and romance Trupin wants. And third, next time you come bothering me again, I will hex the living daylight out of you! Now, could you please leave the room?"

The murderous glare he sent at her direction before he left and slammed the door shut was so worth it. Now, back to her research.

.

.

.

Harry basked in the warmth of the too hot for the season November sun for a moment. In the big (huge) park that the Megara Manor dozens of tents were set, each entrance opened so everybody could see what was inside. There were tables and chairs outside the tents and a very big stage. The ritual fire was in its centre and Harry had no idea how it had been moved up there.

"So the Son of Thar finally decided to grace us with his presence," Kalina's voice said from behind him.

"Son of Thar?" asked Harry after he turned. It was probably from some wizarding story he had never heard of. The benefits of being raised by Muggles.

"You know, from the 'City of Thar' story. The one where everybody was cursed and to sleep forever."

"Yes, of course. I guess I am not quite awake yet," he joked, trying to hide his ignorance. Logically he knew it wasn't his fault, but he hated feeling inadequate.

"Well, you better wake up, the final part is about to begin," the Bulgarian girl said with a smile and rushed ahead of him. Harry spent several seconds admiring the view of her long neck and pale shoulders (and maybe even several things lower), before hurrying to catch up with her. The red dress she wore was very flattering and the way the skirts of the dress danced around her made his friend look like something from another world. Up close, he could see several red gems braided in her hair keeping it up.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked curiously.

"Dancing," replayed Kalina with a smile. "You know how Calypso gets," the two shared a laugh at that. If there was anything she liked more than dancing, Harry was unaware of its existence.

"Everybody does. Say, Kalina, do you want to dance?" he asked trying (and hopefully not failing) to sound nonchalant. The girl blushed prettily and looked at the ground for a second before nodding her head.

"I'd love to, but after the ceremony."

"Of course," the final ceremony was one of the most important parts of the Samhain celebrations. While the main part was held during the night and strictly speaking the festival was over once the sun rose (even if the festivals continued throughout the entire day), the final ceremony was about the greeting of the winter and the transfer of the Samhain log. The family that had the honor of receiving it had to prepare some sort of spectacle, dance or song or both and from what he had heard, every family wanted to be known as the top one.

"Who is receiving this time?" asked Harry. It was a Bulgarian family. He knew that, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the name.

"Yotovi," the girl replayed with barely contained enthusiasm. "Rumor has it, it will be grand. Come on!" She took his hand and pulled him toward the stage where everybody was gathering.

A lone wizard stood there and was waving his wand around. Soon around the stage was raised a huge tent that covered everything and everyone. The only light came from the pyre and for a brief moment, Harry wondered whether the tent would be set on fire or not but he soon remembered about the firerepeling charms. The entrance, which had been open previously, closed. Most likely, there were no more people to come.

The wizard cast another spell and several shining balls came out of his wands and spread all over the wooden stage. Then the man bowed and stepped down.

Suddenly the fire erupted, for the lack of better word, upwards and Kalina grasped his right hand. Harry squeezed it reassuringly, eyes never leaving the stage for a single second.

The fire soon became a burning column made of red and orange flames. The pillar seemed to grow branches, which then had branches of their own and soon Harry realized that someone, probably the wizard from before, was shaping the flames into a tree. The amount of magic that this probably took would have to be enormous.

The tent had grown quiet. No one dared to make even the smallest noise, so when the first accords of the piano began everyone noticed. It was eerie, the way the sound spread, it was as if it came from everywhere. Harry suppressed the urge to look around to find the piano.

Eleven male figures, each wearing long white robe with long sleeves and covered with black and red ornaments, went out on the stage. The men spread behind the fire-tree in a half circle and sang something; it was probably in Bulgarian, considering that the Yotovi family came from there.

As they were singing a woman came out as well, but instead of standing behind the 'tree' she stood up in front of it. Her robe was of similar design to the men's, but the sleeves were much wider and the designs were only on them. On her waist, the robe was tightened with a large red sash.

Whatever the men had sang before, they repeated it and she sang as well. Her voice carried out to every corner of the dark tent. There was sadness in her voice and Harry, along with everyone else was captivated.

At one point, the men started humming something and a young man, maybe early twenties, went next to the lead songstress. With strong voice that carried out as easily as hers did, he started speaking something in Bulgarian.

Harry nudged his friend and whispered.

"What is he saying?" Without looking at him, Kalina started translating.

"_the tallow lams, and the peonies, and the grasses,"_ in a way, her voice was as captivating as his. The woman joined the choir. At the back of his mind Harry noted the shadow figures that were playing on the back of the tent's cloth.

"_and your coolness/ everything, I am saying, sometimes/falls like a bullet," _here Harry was rather surprised at the muggle reference, considering how conservative all Balkan magical states were concerning things like that. _"to the heart, which/ is every time ready/ to cry, when it sees/ something new in the nature when it sees how the spring/ sends off the old age/ and under the cold, and under the snow/ a life arises."_

It was better suited for Beltane, according to Harry, but since Samhain had been considered the New Year Eve for many centuries, it might be appropriate.

The man stepped away and as he was doing that the woman and the choir kept on singing. Next to Harry Kalina was humming the sad melody, but kept on translating for him.

"_And who that must/ forever leave you / cannot, as he lives/ forget you."_

The applause after the final accord carried on for several minutes. The performers bowed several times under the clapping noise.

When they finally left the stage, the big tree shrunk back to its original form. The lights that had previously been on the stage-floor rose and spread around the tent, lightening it up.

A tall wizard with dark (possibly black) robes and a red sash, similar to the woman's from before, stood on the left side of the pyre. His dark hair was straight and brushed his shoulders. The fire illuminating him accented on every wrinkle on his face, making him look in his mid-fifties to sixties. Harry was unable to tell his real age, or name for that matter.

On the other side of the fire stood Lord Megara, his pale robes were contrasting the dark ones of the Bulgarian Lord, like Light and Dark.

"This is Ivan Yotov, the Lord of the family," whispered Kalina from her place at his right. "He is famous for being the first person to tie with Grindelwald academic score," Harry had to suppress the urge to whistle at that. From the year he had spent in the foreign school, he had learnt that if there was one thing Gallert Grindelwald was famous for (except being a Dark Lord and all) was his academic achievements. Before he had been kicked out of the Institute, he had been their best and brightest.

For Lord Yotov to be capable of achieving the same score… That was not a wizard Harry ever wanted as an enemy…

Meanwhile, the two on the stage had exchanged whatever formal word they needed to (from which Harry understood none) and Lord Megara stepped into the pyre. While, rationally, Harry knew that the flames would not harm the man, it was still a bit startling seeing someone walking into a (literally) burning pyre.

Lord Megara silhouette bend and picked something up. Then, for all to see, he raised the log high above his head. Lord Yotov followed his fellow wizard example and soon joined him in the flames. The log was exchanged and the Greek Lord exited the flames from the left and after raising the log in a similar manner, the Bulgarian did the same in the opposite direction.

No sooner had he stepped out of the pyre and the flames died out. Samhain was officially over.

_Kalina's dress (only instead of orange imagine red; don't forget that the girl is thirteen): . _

_The song that was performed, if anyone is interested: watch?v=WnBP6SC7va4_

**.**

**Last Revised: 29.03.2014**


End file.
